


Everything I Never Knew (Reprise)

by Deejaymil



Series: His Dark Mind [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Daemons, Drug Use, Family, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Runner-up of the 2016 Profiler's Choice Awards Best Hotch/Reid, Sexual Content, Winner of the 2015 Profiler's Choice Awards Best Hotch/Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 122,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron Hotchner isn't very good at knowing what he wants. He never has been, even when he was seventeen with a brother that outshone him and a dæmon that just wouldn't settle. Years later, Spencer Reid walks into the BAU with a head full of facts and a dæmon that isn't afraid to tell them exactly what's on his mind. Suddenly, Hotch knows exactly what he wants but with no idea how to get it.</p>
<p>
  <strong> Winner of the 2015 Profiler's Choice Awards Best Hotch/Reid </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> Runner-up of the 2016 Profiler's Choice Awards Best Hotch/Reid </strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There’s nothing wrong with us…

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Ce que je n'ai jamais su](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14326989) by [Malohkeh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malohkeh/pseuds/Malohkeh)



> Thanks to my amazing beta, Tafferling!
> 
> For those who are unfamiliar with the His Dark Materials universe, this is basically all you need to know (taken from the wiki)
> 
> **"A dæmon /ˈdiːmən/ is a type of fictional being in the Philip Pullman fantasy trilogy His Dark Materials. Dæmons are the external physical manifestation of a person's 'inner-self' that takes the form of an animal. Dæmons have human intelligence, are capable of human speech—regardless of the form they take—and usually behave as though they are independent of their humans. Pre-pubescent children's dæmons can change form voluntarily, almost instantaneously, to become any creature, real or imaginary. During their adolescence a person's dæmon undergoes "settling", an event in which that person's dæmon permanently and involuntarily assumes the form of the animal which the person most resembles in character. Dæmons and their humans are almost always of different genders."**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _“My turn shall also come:_
> 
> _I sense the spreading of a wing.”_
> 
> **― Osip Mandelstam, _The Selected Poems_**

Aaron Hotchner had once sat on the sidelines at his cousin’s birthday party because he hadn’t been able to decide whether he’d wanted to play party games with one group of excited children or tag with another. Instead, he’d moodily slouched against the wall of his uncle’s house while his dæmon snuffled around his legs in the form a badger, huffing at anyone who came too close.

Grandmamma had wandered over to him, clicking her tongue in disapproval at his flushed face. Running a cool hand over his forehead, she wiped a dark lock of wayward hair back into place. “You’re not very good at knowing what you want,” she’d commented with a sharp gleam in her eyes, and Aaron had shrugged.

He’d never really outgrown that.

 

 

Spencer Reid unsettled people. He’d considered the possibility that it was his age coupled with his intelligence and that they probably just felt threatened by their own insecurities.

Eventually, he’d had to face the truth that it was probably Aureilo.

“You need to stop this,” William Reid scolded them one day, two years before he walked out on Spencer and Diana without ever looking back. His dæmon, a bristle backed coyote, shook its head at Aureilo in disappointment. “It makes people uncomfortable, Spencer.”

Aureilo shifted quickly to a polecat and back to his favoured hare form. “You’re angry at us because we frighten you,” he said furiously, tail flicking. “You don’t understand us. You don’t even try.”

“You talk far too much,” William said to his son’s dæmon before turning back to Spencer; “and you entirely too little. What’s wrong with you? Why are you like this?”

“There’s nothing wrong with us,” Aureilo replied, laying back long velvet ears and staring unblinkingly at their father. Spencer didn’t say anything, just looked down at his shoes.

“There’s nothing wrong with us,” Aureilo repeated later that night, licking tears from Spencer’s face.

Spencer wasn’t sure that he was right.

 

 

“Your dæmon still hasn’t settled.” The school psychologist eyed him over narrow glasses, a look of distaste around her mouth. Aaron fought the urge to kick her under the table as she carefully avoided looking at Halaimon, who was flickering at a rapid pace through a startling variety of animals, each displaying Aaron’s irate mood. The woman’s dæmon, a barred owl, clucked his beak a few times and rustled heavy feathers in obvious disapproval.

At seventeen, Hal should have settled ages ago. But Aaron rarely did what was expected of him; why would his dæmon would be any different?

“It says here your brother’s dæmon settled two years ago, and he’s younger than you.” There was that desire to kick her again as she rattled off the bane of his life. _Why can’t you be more like your brother? Why are you so serious; why are you so cold?_

_You’re a disappointment, Aaron._

“I’m not my brother,” he muttered to the glossy surface of her desk. Hal shifted into a crow and made a harsh noise of agreement.

 

 

There was never any question about what Aureilo would settle as. Ever since he could remember, Spencer had had his hare dæmon loping after him with easy strides and only occasionally shifting if the need arose for wings or sharper teeth. So, when he woke up one day at twelve years old, put his glasses on, and _knew,_ it came as no surprise to anybody that it was a hare curled up on the mattress next to him.

Spencer went to the library and found every book on hares they had, even though he’d read them all before.

“Dæmon settled has it, love?” the librarian asked him absently, wandering past his teetering stack of books.

Aureilo opened his mouth to answer, but Spencer shoved a book into his paw. They were trying not to be weird anymore, and that meant _he_ had to talk. “Yeah, he’s _Lepus europaeus_ ,” he said softly, a proud note to his voice. “They’re the largest hare species in the world.”

“Not the prettiest though,” the librarian noted. “Very plain looking. But if you’re happy, good for you!”

“You can run up thirty-five miles per hour,” Spencer comforted Aureilo as the woman walked away. “What does it matter what you look like?”

Aureilo eyed him over the pile of books. “We don’t always have to run; hares can fight too. You forget that.”

Spencer hadn’t.

 

 

Aaron had left home as soon as he was able, and he never looked back, which was why Sean on his doorstep in the middle of the night when he had finals the next day was a surprise, and not a welcome one.

“Why are you here?” Aaron asked, moving aside with a raised eyebrow to let his brother in.

“What? Can’t I visit my big brother without there being some ulterior motive?” Sean said with a snort, stopping dead at the sight of Hal sprawled near Aaron’s bed. “Whoa, she settled _big.”_

Aaron looked from Sean’s slim, cheerful otter dæmon to his own watching the proceedings with cold eyes. He shrugged. “She’s some sort of shepherd dog. They get big.”

Sean knew him better than to believe that he didn’t know exactly what his dæmon was, but he also knew better than to pry. “Can I stay here for a while?” he asked later that night, after a few beers, and Aaron warily agreed, even as Hal bared long fangs at Paarthurnax in a silent command for her to keep her distance.

 

 

“What’s your dæmon?” asked the FBI recruiter on the first day of Aaron’s training, his pen poised over the intake paperwork.

Aaron thought of the work he’d soon be doing, dangerous and thrilling and for the first time something he wanted more than _anything_. “She’s a wolf,” he told the man quietly, and Hal rumbled in agreement.

 _Halaimon: grey wolf_ , the form said in clear print for everyone to see.

“What does it matter what they call me anyway?” Hal asked later that night. Aaron didn’t answer.

When the other trainees introduced themselves to him, he told them to call him Hotch. There was a lot of power in names, even if Hal didn’t see it. Aaron had a dog dæmon and everyone compared him to his brother.

Hotch had a wolf dæmon, and no one questioned him.

 

 

Aureilo almost escaped.

Spencer hadn’t had a chance, even though his dæmon had sniffed out the trap and shouted for him to run moments before the teenagers emerged from their hiding places. He’d barely taken two steps before a meaty hand had him by his collar, pulling him off his feet and momentarily cutting off his airway. His had hare bolted with all the speed his species was renowned for, but there was only so much he could do when forced to run in awkward half-circles at the end of his invisible tether to his human. One of the teenager’s dæmons herded him against a wall, lunging at him with wide, canine jaws.

Aureilo waited until the dog was almost on him before lashing out with a strong foreleg and leaving a bleeding gash across the dog’s muzzle. Then, he took off again.

Spencer wasn’t sure what was more disorientating: the terrible, pulling sensation of his hare straining against their bond to get away from the infuriated dog, or the clout he’d received from the owner of the dog dæmon when his hare had struck it. He began to cry from the pain of it, and Aureilo turned and ran straight back into the jaws of the dog in his desperation.

Spencer wouldn’t remember them stripping his clothes and tying him to the goalpost, or, if he did, those memories were easily shadowed by the horrible agony of his dæmon drawing away.

When he started screaming, they left him alone. Eventually, Aureilo picked himself up from where the dog had shaken him viciously and dropped him, limping over to gnaw the ties off Spencer’s wrists and licking at the bloody grazes left behind. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking uncontrollably as the sick sensation of distance began to fade. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m here. I won’t go that far again.”

Spencer clutched his hare to him and stroked his soft fur with trembling hands. “We can do better,” he murmured into his dæmon’s coat. “We can stop them from hurting us like that again.” He thought quietly to himself that maybe dæmons weren’t such a great idea after all.

How could anyone ever not be vulnerable with a fragment of their own soul visible for everyone to see?

 

 

“Listen, Aaron, you’re a great guy, we’re just… not compatible.” The latest in a long string of failed relationships smiled sadly at him as she packed her things. “It’s not you…”

“It’s my dæmon,” Hotch cut in, not bothering to temper his voice. Hal, a large dark form laying by the door, raised her head and bared her teeth at the woman’s rook dæmon, who looked away.

“She’s… intimidating,” Anna muttered, skin flushing red. “I’m sorry. It’s just she looks so vicious, you know? I feel like people stare at us when we’re together…”

Hotch let her leave. “We don’t need them anyway,” he said to Hal bitterly, “if they’re so quick to judge.”

Hal padded up and placed a consoling paw on his knee. “We didn’t like her anyway,” she said calmly.

He snorted, scratching behind her ear. “Who said that? I liked her just fine.”

“No, you didn’t. She always left the milk in the fridge door instead of at the back, and you told her I’m a wolf.”

“You are a wolf.”

Hal’s eyes flickered up to his, somehow both shadowed and knowing. “Why are you telling me this? I know what I am. You’re the one who’s confused.”

Hotch shook her off irritably. Standing, he paced around the room as restlessness clawed at him. He hated it when she was like this. “That doesn’t even make sense. I know what I am, idiot.”

“Lonely,” she remarked, laying back down.

He didn’t argue with her.

 

 

The first time Spencer let someone touch his dæmon, he was drunk and not entirely sure of what was going on. Ethan ran a careful hand down Aureilo’s spine, his eyes wide with wonder and something else, darker and hungrier, the hare’s skin twitching violently under his fingers. Spencer couldn’t decide if the intense feeling of _wrongness_ that accompanied the gesture made him want to throw up or whimper with a charged sort of desire.

“Don’t,” Aureilo said sharply as their friend lifted his hand to do it again. “We don’t like it.”

In the end, Spencer ended up sleeping with Ethan anyway, and it none of it was anything at all like he’d expected. Aureilo kept his distance from the whole thing, sitting by the window and looking out into the night with cold eyes. Ethan’s rat dæmon kept trying to nuzzle against the hare, but he never spared her a glance.

“Why did you do that?” the hare complained later, back in their own room as Spencer examined a dark bruise on his collarbone. “Why do you need him?”

“Because that’s what normal people do, Aureilo. Normal people make friends and they have partners and they have _fun_. Can’t you just let us be normal for once?”

“That wasn’t fun,” griped the hare, flattening himself against the floor. “And there’s nothing wrong with us. We _are_ normal.” Spencer let him be, quietly admitting to himself that it wasn’t exactly something he was in a hurry to repeat anyway.

Two years later, Jason Gideon called him into his office and offered him a job. He accepted immediately. Working with the elite Behavioural Analysis Team to delve into the darkest recesses of the human mind? There was nothing he’d find more compelling, he was certain.

Six months after that, he walked into the BAU and met Aaron Hotchner, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure anymore.

 

 

He wasn’t sure what to make of the new team member Gideon had insisted on. The kid was all gangly limbs and wide eyes, his ridiculous hair flopping into his eyes and guaranteeing he’d never be able to get off a clear shot—assuming he ever qualified for a weapon, anyway.

“I dunno, Hotch,” Morgan said out of the corner of his mouth, watching Gideon talking to the kid in his office. “He looks like he’s going to get himself killed in the field.” His dæmon, a boxer dog with a powerful, muscular body, leaned against his leg and rumbled deep in her throat with unspoken agreement.  

Hotch let one hand fall onto Hal’s rough head, an easy feat considering his dæmon’s height, and made a non-committal noise. “Give him a chance,” he suggested, despite wanting to do nothing of the sort. “He might surprise us all.”

Gideon emerged from his office with his hawk dæmon perched on his shoulder and a wide grin on his face, the cocky one that Hotch always hated. “I’d like to introduce you all to Dr. Spencer Reid,” he announced, shoving the man forward even as he tried to hang back.

“Where’s his dæmon?” Hal said in a voice low enough that only Hotch could hear. There was no animal perched on the man’s cardigan or hanging out of a pocket, the ground around his feet clear. Hotch frowned, and made a mental note to ask him if he had an insect dæmon and a proper safety case for the creature to travel in.

In the end, that turned out to be the least mysterious thing about Spencer Reid.

 


	2. It was impossible to breathe without him.

It was their first case with the new kid, and Hotch felt a small tinge of apprehension at letting the strange and somewhat off-putting Dr. Reid out into the field. It was a feeling that wasn’t changed in any way when the man pulled up at the airfield in a Volvo that looked like it had seen more years than Hotch had.

“Agent Hotchner,” Dr. Reid greeted him nervously, nodding his head as he got out the car. “Halaimon,” he added, repeating the gesture towards the large dæmon at Hotch’s side.

Hotch froze. It was an unspoken rule that people didn’t talk to other people’s dæmons unless given express permission. For his newest colleague have done so in such a casual manner was startling, to say the least. A flash of brown by the younger man’s feet drew his attention away from the social misstep as a creature darted out of the car and bounded off to vanish into the shrubbery at the side of the parking lot before Hotch could get a clear view of it. “What was that?” he asked, forgetting his irritation. Hal twitched with surprise.

Dr. Reid shrugged indifferently, leaning into his car to get his go-bag and nudging the door shut with his hip. “Aureilo. He’ll be back before we board. Have you got the case notes?”

He was right. Hotch had barely settled into his chair on the jet when the creature reappeared, bouncing easily up the steps and eyeing the cabin with her head tilted to one side. Hotch noted that she was small. Then he noted how delicate she looked. He felt surprise at neither of these things.

“She’s a rabbit,” Morgan commented, lowering the casefile and grinning at the lanky creature. “Suits you, Pretty Boy.”

Reid gave Morgan a strange look at the nickname, even as his dæmon shook her fur out angrily and stood upright on her hind-legs. “I am most certainly not,” the dæmon hissed in what was unmistakably a masculine voice. “I’m very clearly a European Hare and most _assuredly_ not a she.”

Reid kept calmly reading through his file as everyone looked from him to his dæmon, his eyes never leaving the page.

 

 

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but, at some point, Reid had stopped flinching away when Morgan slung a companionable arm around his shoulders. Without him noticing, it had stopped being just another job, and suddenly Reid had found himself with more than just co-workers.

“Do I have to wear the hat?” he asked in horror, seeing the gaudy birthday-cake-shaped monstrosity in JJ’s hands.

She ignored his yelp of dismay and plonked it onto his head anyway. Smiling brightly with her _Colias hyale_ dæmon perched jauntily on her head like a particularly lively hair-clip, Reid was horribly aware that he wasn’t getting out of this team bonding exercise. “It’s not every day you turn twenty-four, Spence.”

Aureilo dodged away from Morgan’s dæmon as the exuberant boxer tried to affectionately nudge him with her nose. “Naemaria, you’re making me damp,” the hare grumbled, itching at the wet patch with his hind paw. The boxer didn’t answer, but she looked up at Reid and winked.

“You complain a lot for someone so small,” Elle said, leaning over the desk to look closer at Reid’s hat with her own ferret dæmon clinging tenaciously to her shoulder. There was a split moment of tense silence as she realized that she’d casually addressed another person’s dæmon and waited for Reid to take offence.

“You do complain a lot,” Reid told his dæmon, ignoring the hare’s angry huff. When Reid looked up, his team were smiling again, the awkward moment gone, and Hotch was watching him from the doorway with an expression that Reid couldn’t even begin to understand.

 

 

Reid didn’t talk very often but Aureilo did, when he bothered to be present anyway. Anytime he wasn’t, Reid wandered around with an oddly vacant gaze, as though half his mind was somewhere else. He was still brilliant though; even more so when he had his dæmon to compliment his reservations, and, at some point, they’d stopped caring that there was no guarantee whether a question aimed at Reid would be answered by him or by his dæmon.

Hotch wasn’t sure when he’d started to respect the man in his own right, but it may have been around the point that Reid had shot a man in the forehead to save both their lives without Hotch ever having to say a word.

 

 

All the training in the world couldn’t adequately prepare you for the moment someone first pulled a gun on you, and the only thing that kept Reid from completely losing his head when Dowd aimed the weapon at him was Hotch’s steady presence at his side. The knowledge that Aureilo was well out of harm’s way, outside with the rest of the team, well… that didn’t hurt, either.

Hal snarled by the wall where Dowd’s dæmon, a badger, snarled back at her. Hotch kicked at Reid, shouting abuse, trying to communicate his plan without giving it away. It was almost insulting. Reid had known what Hotch wanted the moment he’d moved people out of the firing line. After that, it was easy to get the Glock from Hotch’s ankle holster and shoot Dowd directly in the centre of his supra-orbital ridge.

Not the safest of shots; a miss would have guaranteed their deaths. But a chest shot would have killed them as well, giving Dowd the time to return fire. The long moment it took for his finger to tighten on the trigger was crowded with every possibility and outcome of the movement.

It should have been harder to take a life. He was sure it would hit him later.

Hotch found him at the ambulance, and Reid wanted to laugh at the worried lines on the man’s forehead. “Hotch, you kick like a nine-year-old girl,” he teased him. The worry lines didn’t fade, but the man did smile.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” Aureilo told him sternly, as soon as Hotch was out of earshot. Reid watched as Hal’s ears flicked back to them, clearly listening.

He thought of all the ways today could have gone wrong and shivered. “I’m okay with that,” he admitted, running a hand down his dæmon’s back.

 

 

His team was drinking, letting loose, the horrors of their workday shedding off them easily as soon as they’d stepped into the bar. Hotch sat alone, watching them and quietly working his way through his own drinks. Hal was sprawled under the table, out of the way of careless feet, her eyes and ears focused on everything. Occasionally, one of the bar’s occupants would catch sight of her and comment on her size. They would leave when Hotch ignored them, or at the slightest wrinkle of Hal’s great muzzle. Someone slid onto the seat next to him and scooted across until they were side by side. Reid was alone, Aureilo nowhere in sight. Hotch wasn’t surprised by this anymore. One day he’d ask him how he did it, but for now he chalked it up to just Reid being Reid.

“I thought Morgan was being your wingman,” he said to the other man, noting the pink flush on Reid’s face and the half empty glass in his hand.

Reid chuckled nervously. “He was. He got distracted, and I escaped. Figured I’d be safer over here.”

Hotch laughed and they fell into a companionable silence, which eventually turned into Reid profiling the people in the bar under his breath, almost as though for his own entertainment. Hotch let him ramble on, occasionally correcting him, and it occurred to the older profiler that Morgan had been very effective in getting their youngest teammate very drunk. Leaning on his arm to get a better view of the people around them, Reid kept slipping forward as his elbow skidded out from under him, hurriedly correcting his posture before he skated into Hotch.

Eventually, he stopped correcting himself and just let himself list slightly on Hotch’s side, still cheerily tallying how many of the revellers around them had embarrassing fetishes—something that brought a whole range of interesting, albeit _unprofessional_ , questions to Hotch’s mind—and rattling off the scientific names of their dæmons like a party trick. Hotch didn’t join in, because at some point his attention had been taken up completely by the warm length of Reid’s body against him, his mind absently wondering what it would be like to have the rest of Reid against him—and where the hell was _that_ coming from?

When Reid turned to face him, his eyes glittering and mouth quirked in a delicious smile, Hotch swallowed hard and tried, unsuccessfully, not to imagine what it would be like to fit his own mouth against those lips. Hal stayed quiet at his feet but when he glanced down at her, her eyes were wide with surprise.

“Why do you tell people she’s a wolf?” Reid asked, having followed his gaze down to the dæmon.

Hotch froze, cornered. “Why wouldn’t I?” He knew before he said it that it was a mistake to question the guy who knew the scientific name of every dæmon in the room by rote.

“She’s not a full wolf,” Reid said quietly. Hotch’s heart skipped a beat. “Her muzzle and ears give it away, plus her colouration. Black in wolves is due to canine genes, however diluted.”

Hotch ran a finger along his glass and wiped the condensation on his jeans, the side of his hand brushing against Reid’s leg and sending a shock of goose bumps up his arm. “I’m not very good at knowing what I want,” he murmured, and Reid shivered.

 

 

It was always worse when children were involved. Reid watched Hotch through the one-way window as he comforted a boy who’d just lost his mother, the child’s dæmon a frantic, terrified flicker as it shifted from form to form. Hal was there, hovering back to give the boy space. As Reid watched the child finally give in and crumple, sobbing, into Hotch’s arms, he thought he could see something that was almost like longing in the wolfdog’s gaze.

Aureilo flicked a long ear, sitting on the desk to see clearly. “I never thought we’d find someone lonelier than you,” the hare said.

Reid swallowed hard and didn’t answer, his mouth too dry to form words.

 

 

Somehow, Hotch felt no surprise that it was Elle’s Arlo that had done it first.

“Your killer has military experience,” the ferret said abruptly one day, looking up from where he was examining one of Reid’s maps. Everyone in the room but Reid stopped and looked at him, taken aback by the dæmon’s voice despite their daily exposure to Aureilo. It was somehow weirder coming from something that wasn’t a part of the collection of oddities that comprised the whole of Spencer Reid.

Morgan opened his mouth to answer, shooting a frantic expression at Elle, plaintively asking permission. Elle was watching her dæmon with a thoughtful look and didn’t notice her teammate’s consternation.

“Arlo’s right,” Reid said, looking up from his file. “Look at the way his room is organized. It should have been immediately obvious to us.”

“We got thrown off by the sloppy method to his kill style,” Morgan said finally, settling back into his chair. When Naemaria joined in with her own cautious observations, Hotch couldn’t help but grin. As odd as this scene would look to outsiders, how off-putting the idea of their dæmons freely speaking to others, somehow it felt… right.

Hal stayed by his side and said nothing, but her eyes never left Reid.

 

 

Reid took his vest off almost as soon as he got on the train where Elle was being held hostage, and Hotch wasn’t sure what he was going to do to the kid when he got his hands on him. If he got his hands on him. If he had the chance.

In the end, he found out.

 

 

Hotch knocked on his door that night, and Reid felt anxiety ramp up in his chest at the expectation of a lecture from his boss. He’d already carefully planned out his rebuttal, stating logically how taking his vest off and attempting to talk his way out of the situation had been their best option at the time. He was prepared for anything Hotch threw at him.

At least, he’d thought he was.

He offered Hotch a seat, expecting anything, really; instead, he of the expected ‘anything’, Hotch pulled him into a bruising kiss and left him speechless. There was a panicked kind of desperation to the kiss, as though Hotch was trying to make up for a day spent imagining never having this opportunity, and every part of Reid’s body that was making contact with him burned with it.

“Hotch, what?” he gasped when they finally surfaced, taking a step back and dropping onto the couch awkwardly. His head spun as all the blood in his body took a very abrupt turn downwards.

Hotch didn’t answer, just shot him a strange expression and crowded on top of him, pinning him against the cushion. One of his legs was braced between Reid’s own, and he almost involuntarily arched upwards into it, whining into Hotch’s mouth at the pressure. Hotch swore, seemingly as thrown as Reid by the intensity of this sudden experience. Lowering his head, he nipped at Reid’s neck. Reid became abruptly aware of the insistent need to readjust his trousers and, judging by the strained moan that escaped Hotch, he’d just become aware of it as well.

Tilting his head back, Reid hissed out a breath as his eyes fell onto Aureilo, curled against one of Hal’s forelegs as the big wolfdog nuzzled him with longing affection. Aureilo’s eyes were partly closed, his usually sharp expression dazed. Hotch must have looked up as well, because he froze against Reid, the thumping of his heart reverberating through both their chests.

“She’s never let another dæmon touch her before,” he said, his voice several octaves deeper than usual and sending another jolt of liquid desire straight to Reid’s crotch.

He shifted under Hotch to get a better look, whimpering as Hotch leaned his weight against him, rocking up and trembling at the sensation. “Hotch,” he huffed, because there was a point of no return and they were about to cross it. “ _Aaron_.” The second time was needier, shriller, and Hotch jerked against him and fumbled for Reid’s zipper. He brushed against Reid’s crotch; stopped; pressed his hand against the hard length within; there was a long, frozen moment when Reid’s body felt like it was boiling.

Then, his pants were undone, Hotch had his own unfastened, and they were sliding against each other in a fumbling mess of skin and sweat, Reid mouthing damply at Aaron’s neck as they both rushed towards a hasty climax. Hotch bent to wrap a hand around both of them, pulling them together as Reid’s hip rolled into his palm. His hand was warm and dry, Reid was vaguely aware of Aureilo saying something unintelligible in the background, and it was _all too much_.

“Spencer,” Hotch hissed once, and there was a snap of command in that voice that Reid couldn’t help but respond to, hurtling over the edge as Hotch stiffened and swore again, following him moments later.

Later, they’d dress as though nothing had happened, Hotch carefully smoothing his tie, and Reid would catch his eye and ask, _Why today? Why me?_

Hotch wouldn’t answer, looking away with a blank face that almost disguised what they’d been doing. It was Hal who would, and her voice was richer and softer than Reid had ever expected it would be.

“Maybe we got tired of being lonely,” she said, running her tongue down Aureilo’s flank.

 

 

It was a week after _it_ had happened, and Hotch still wasn’t entirely sure if it was just some insanely erotic fantasy his brain had cooked up to take his mind off work and his growing attraction to his obscenely young subordinate. Then, he’d look up from his desk to see Reid standing in the bullpen, waving his arms about as he tried to explain some complicated theory to a blank-faced Morgan, and something low in his stomach would thrum to life with a fixed interest.

Aureilo and Hal seemed to have become caught in each other’s orbits, a worryingly noticeable change in behaviour that Hotch found himself obsessing over as he waited for someone else to notice. No one seemed to, despite how closely the two dæmons sat when they were both present.

The dæmons didn’t touch again, and, for that, Hotch was thankful. He didn’t quite think either him or Reid could handle it again.

He found Reid stirring what looked like half the sugar bowl into his coffee one day and the words slipped out before he could stop them: “What happened didn’t mean anything.” Reid turned with startled eyes, and Hotch hurried to correct himself before someone could walk in and see his ears reddening: “It was just a casual thing.”

Reid laughed oddly and grinned in his offhand way. “It’s alright, Hotch. It’s just sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

Hotch told himself he was relieved, but Reid’s voice had caught on the last sentence and he wasn’t sure if they were both telling the truth. Not to mention, the calm way Reid had said ‘just sex,’ made him itch with a barely restrained jealously.

Hotch didn’t like sharing.

Then, Lila Archer came along and Reid started to look at her with that wide-eyed look he’d used to save solely for him, and Hotch wasn’t entirely sure if it was Hal or him who’d bristled more.

 

 

In the end, he made the call. Like he’d told Reid, he’d never been good at knowing what he wanted. The phone rang out, and he hung up with a slightly relieved air. He wasn’t even sure why he was calling his ex; they’d broken up on somewhat amicable terms, but it had never gone anywhere. When it trilled a few minutes later and Haley’s name flashed up on the screen, he thought about not answering it.

“Why are you doing this?” Hal asked him grumpily, and for some reason that spurred him on.

“Haley? Hi. It’s Aaron. I was wondering if you wanted to catch up.”

The meal was fine, the sex that followed was fine, and the whole time Hal watched with disinterest and Hotch had never felt so disconnected from his own pleasure. He cautiously agreed to another date, ignoring Hal’s rumbling discontent.

He’d never been so out of sync with her before.

What was wrong with him?

 

 

His mother was quietly reading in the conference room, waiting for Reid to take her home, and he took a few moments to enjoy the peacefulness of the moment. Her cheetah dæmon was sitting quietly at her feet, his scruffy coat bunched up into tufts of spots and golden fur as his eyes roamed distractedly around the room. They were unfocused, his mind a million miles away.

His mom’s dæmon had always been an indicator of whether she was going to have an episode; Aureilo having always quietly warned him of Sonnet’s distress in the past. Today, Aureilo watched them without saying anything.

A voice behind him made him jump: “It must have been hard growing up with just your mom.”

From anyone else, he would have avoided the question. From Hotch, he didn’t dare. “It wasn’t so bad,” he answered, trying not to let his gaze linger too long. “ _Acinonyx jubatus_ females always raise their cubs on their own.” The words ‘didn’t mean anything’ lingered in his brain as though they’d been burned in, and he determinedly refused to acknowledge how much they hurt.

Hotch’s eyebrows twitched. “You know; dæmons don’t always show that much about their humans. You don’t eat carrots.”

Reid fought the desire to lecture Hotch about the proper diet of a European hare, and instead shrugged nonchalantly. “I think our dæmons say plenty about us. Wolves run in packs.”

Hotch’s shoulder brushed his slightly and Reid tried not to lean into the touch.

He failed.

 

 

Garcia was cuddled against Morgan, her eyes red ringed with tears and her magpie dæmon for once still and silent on her shoulder. Naemaria curled around Morgan’s feet, her eyes frightened.

Hotch paced restlessly, time slipping by slowly as they waited for news of Elle. Reid wasn’t there, off getting coffee, and the anxiousness of wanting his whole team around him while they waited ate at him.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked softly on his fourth loop of the waiting room, her butterfly fluttering his wings. He nodded, throat too tight to find the words.

Gideon stood apart from them, shoulders bowed with half-acknowledged guilt. Hotch knew he should go over there and comfort him, but it was hard to do when Elle was still bleeding out under a surgeon’s knife. He didn’t blame Gideon.

He didn’t not blame Gideon.

The soft tread of sneakers announced Reid’s return, and he silently handed Hotch a coffee that the man didn’t really need. They were standing away from the team, surveying the tightly knit group, and it hit Hotch that he was being ridiculous.

“I lied,” he said suddenly. “I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Reid didn’t reply, but he stepped microscopically closer. When the doctor finally told them that Elle was alive and going to stay that way, he placed a comforting hand on Hotch’s arm.

 

 

Hotch went home with Elle’s resignation heavy in his hand.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Reid mumbled into Hotch’s shirt, the betrayal clear in his voice.

“Sometimes, we don’t,” Hal replied.

 

 

Elle’s replacement turned out to be sharp and clever, and Aureilo seemed to make it his own personal goal to welcome her onto the team. The first time the dæmon directly addressed her, Emily Prentiss barely skipped a beat before responding, seemingly nonplussed by the experience. They found out, as time went on, that very little threw her off her game. Her own dæmon, a slim black cat with green eyes, blinked slowly at the hare and purred as though pleased.

“I like her,” Aureilo announced later that night as Hotch picked at Reid’s unguarded Indian food, flicking beans down to the waiting hare. He went to swallow his mouthful to reply but was beaten to it.

“So do I,” Hal said, her tail thumping twice against the carpet for emphasis.

Reid didn’t look up from his book but, when Hotch glanced at him, his mouth was turned up in a smile.

 

 

When it finally happened, they were on a case, and it was a mistake.

Reid was tense, stressed by the viciousness of the crimes they were investigating. Aureilo, for once, was sticking close to the station, loping about the room with an easy stride as Reid paced in front of the geographical map. It was a split-second lapse, Hal simply reaching out and nuzzling the hare fondly as he passed, but Morgan was looking.

“I didn’t realize you two were so close,” Morgan teased. It could have gone away right then and there if Hotch hadn’t frozen, if he had turned it into a joke, the casual banter it was supposed to be. A similar silence from the other side of the room indicated Reid had done exactly the same. Prentiss looked up sharply, and the only solace he could take from the look she shot at him was that he was right to hire her. She had great instincts. JJ and Morgan were a little slower, but only because it was the last thing they were expecting, their eyes both taking on the same stunned shape at once.

“We’ll talk later,” Gideon murmured ominously, and Hotch could see Reid panicking.

“Reid, JJ, go out to Hankel’s and collaborate his report,” he said, figuring he could at least give the man some time to prepare. Reid and JJ walked out silently with their dæmons close and neither said goodbye, because what was the worst that could happen?

There was always a price to be paid for letting your guard down.

 

 

Hotch finally worked out the most surprising thing about Spencer Reid that day.

It was impossible to breathe without him.


	3. He’s holding nothing

Aureilo screams. It’s a terrible sound. When Reid spins around wildly to find him, he’s being held tightly in the crushing jaws of a mad-eyed aardwolf dæmon. Reid staggers as the pain of it washes over him, the hare’s frantic kicking to try and get free slowing as the creature bites down.

When the butt of the shotgun slams into the side of Reid’s head and sends him sprawling into the thick dirt of the cornfield, it’s almost a relief to let unconsciousness free him from that pain.

Almost.

“Hotch,” Reid gasps, feeling rough hands grab his shirt and drag him, helpless to escape. _Help us_.

When he closes his eyes, Aureilo is limp in the aardwolf’s mouth.

 

 

Hotch leaps out of the car with his heart hammering in his throat. Hal charges ahead, tasting the air. He’s only half aware of the rest of the team spreading out, Morgan and Prentiss racing for the barn with their dæmons beside them.

“This way,” Hal barks, turning on a dime and bounding towards the cornfield. Hotch follows her, his hand on his weapon and adrenaline charging through his veins.

He’d sent Reid and JJ out here. If something has happened to them, it’s his fault.

He catches up to his dæmon staring down at the trodden stalks and earth with wide, worried eyes. “Someone was dragged,” Gideon says softly, his hawk wheeling high above, keen eyes searching for their missing colleagues.

“Aureilo,” breathes Hal, nostrils flaring over a dark splatter of blood on the ground and her voice light with an emotion he’s never heard her express before. “That bastard has taken Spencer and Aureilo.”

She’s scared.

So is he.

 

 

Reid wakes up to offal cooking and the uneasy, disorientating sensation of a concussion throbbing in the back of his skull. He’s awake only two seconds before the pain hits him anew and he realizes that, while he was unconscious, someone had reached into his chest and torn out his heart.

“You should be dead,” Hankel says coldly from the corner of the room. “You’re here and your dæmon isn’t. Only a witch could survive that.”

Reid doesn’t hear him over the sound of his own screams.

 

 

They’re spread out around Hankel’s house, desperately searching for anything that can possibly lead them to their missing friend, when Hal snuffs the air and gives a wild, startling bark. Their guns are out in seconds but it isn’t fear that slams into Hotch like a freight train as his dæmon trots over to the door and nuzzles the creature that limps in.

“Aureilo,” he says, relief crashing through him. If the hare is here, Reid is too. The nightmare is over.

But the dæmon staggers further into the room, soft fur mattered with foamy sweat and leaving a damp trail of blood from damaged paws. “I tried to chase the car,” he slurs, slumping onto his side and laying horribly, terribly still, the only sign of life in the laboured rise and fall of his sides.

Hotch can’t think for the crushing dread that follows those words, head whirling with the implications. The bastard has taken Reid and not his dæmon. He’s _severed_ them.

He’s killed them.

They’ll die. _Deaddeaddead,_ chants a jeering voice in his head, the bitter first-hand knowledge of what happens to a person separated from their dæmon the subject of many tragic cases previously. No one else in the room moves, humans and dæmons all frozen in the grief of the moment, everyone expecting the hare to vanish into a shower of gold dust at any second.

They hadn’t even said goodbye.

Hal whines and curls her huge body protectively around the fragile form, nosing it, tongue caressing the bloodied paws. She raises her head and bares white fangs at the agents in the room. “They’re not dead yet!” she snarls, turning toward Hotch. “You can still find him! Move!”

They do.

 

 

“I don’t want it,” Reid says, lips numb as Hankel rolls up his sleeve and presses the needle against his vein. He can barely focus for the agonising pain of the distance between his dæmon and himself, his tongue clumsy in his mouth. The needle pinches; his arm burns.

It helps.

He has a vague memory of Hankel talking to a video camera, but his entire world has shrunk to the pain in his chest and the all-encompassing effort it’s taking to hold himself together. _Earth wolf,_ he thinks, looking at Hankel’s dæmon on the ground where his isn’t. _I know a wolf too,_ and he almost laughs at the thought before crying instead.

“I don’t want it,” he says again as the needle bites again.

He’s lying.

 

 

Seeing Reid on the screen has silenced them all, turning the nightmare into a horrible, endless reality. You can wake up from nightmares, they’re gone within moments of opening your eyes. No matter how many times Hotch opens his eyes from this moment on, it will never take away the truth of Reid tied to that chair, grey-skinned and blank eyed and looking for all the world as though the real Spencer has died and left behind a living corpse.

“Come back to me,” Hotch says numbly to the blank screen when the feed is cut. Garcia stiffens next to him, her eyes wide with grief. “Please come back to me.”

Aureilo lays on the ground where he’d fallen, Hal a silent sentry over him.

They’re all just waiting.

 

 

“I haven’t done anything,” Reid gasps, and Hankel strikes him again, rage twisting his face into a ghastly mask. He hits the ground and the air is knocked out of his body. His limbs move without his control, involuntary spasms racketing up his arms.

_Seizure_ , he thinks emotionlessly as his mind begins to skitter away from him. _I’m dying. Sorry, Aaron._

“Aureilo,” he exhales, before he stops breathing.

 

 

Hal screams as Aureilo shudders under her paw, his eyes rolling back into his head and legs kicking uselessly as his spine stiffens.

“He’s killing him,” sobs Garcia, clutching her dæmon close. They’re all torn between watching Reid’s body struggle for life and waiting for Aureilo to disappear as his human’s heart stops beating.

Reid goes still and Hotch shatters.

“He’s dead,” he cries, hearing Hal echo his grief. “He’s dead, he died. We just watched him die.”

Gideon turns to look at him with eyes that are hollow, mouth slightly open in a wordless shock. The others float around him, insubstantial, as his reality contracts to that one simple truth.

Spencer Reid is never coming home.

Hal is still wrapped around Aureilo, as though she can keep him alive by sheer willpower. Hotch staggers over to them, falling to his knees next to the dæmons and reaching down with a shaking hand. Aureilo’s fur is warm under his palm, and he weighs next to nothing when Hotch gathers him into his arms. It seems impossible that everything that makes Spencer _Spencer_ is now cradled in his grasp. The hare’s eyes open and stare at him, glazed and broken.

“He’s in a cemetery,” he says with finality. “I’m scared, Aaron.”

Then Hotch is holding nothing and the air around him glitters with gold.

 

 

“Guys!” Garcia cries. When Hotch turns his head slowly to look at her, she’s staring at the computer screen, and Hankel is trying to save Reid’s life.

“He’s gone,” Morgan murmurs, voice thick with grief. His dæmon is a huddled mass by his legs, Emily’s Sergio curled against her and shaking miserably. “Aureilo’s gone. Reid’s not coming back.”

But, he does.

 

 

“Tobias wrote in his journal about staying clean and keeping away from Marshall,” Prentiss says, her eyes determined. “There’s a cemetery on that ground.”

“We’re bringing him home.” Hotch’s voice is steady, he’s calm enough for this one last duty to his friend. His lover. Whatever Spencer had been and isn’t anymore.

“He’s still alive, Hotch, Hankel resuscitated him,” Gideon points out, and Hotch sees JJ trying not to buckle with the weight of it.

“But not Aureilo,” Hal says quietly, and they collectively shudder. None of them talk about the vacant expression that had been on Reid’s face as Hankel dragged him upright, even as he’d breathed once more. He hadn’t said a word, not a single word, and somehow Hotch knows that he hasn’t really been brought back at all.

“We’re bringing him home,” JJ repeats, standing and walking to the exit as though on autopilot.

In the car, Gideon drives because Hotch doesn’t trust himself to.

 

 

Reid’s standing next to the body of the bastard who’d taken him and looking at them with an expression that belongs on a much older man, as though he isn’t quite sure where he is or what’s happening anymore. Hotch wants nothing more than to grab him and shake the vacancy out of his expression; to stop him from looking so much like someone severed from reality. Hankel is dead, a gunshot wound to his skull, and Reid is holding the gun. Hotch wonders how a ghost could possibly have pulled the trigger.

They move silently, slowly, towards their friend, none of them willing to make the first advance towards him only to find him cold and empty. In the end, it’s Reid who takes the first step, dropping the gun, staggering towards Hotch, and crumpling into his arms, warm and solid and so _alive_.

“I knew you’d come,” Reid mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, the material dampening where his cheek presses against it. Hotch can feel his heart beating sluggishly through his filthy shirt.

He’s alive. He’s talking. God knows how, but he’s still _him_.

Hal squeezes in beside them and pushes her heavy head against Reid’s leg, whining, uncharacteristically needy in her demand for attention. Reid hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering up to Hotch as though to ask for permission before he drops a trembling hand to run gently down the canine’s fur. Hotch shivers but doesn’t say anything.

Somehow, nothing about Spencer Reid surprises him anymore.


	4. When he looks, she’s alone.

Reid stirs for the third time that hour and opens dull eyes, looking small and still in the hospital bed. “How’s JJ?” he asks with a voice that trails into nothing.

“She’s fine,” Hotch answers gently. Reid closes his eyes again, drifting away. Hotch watches him with his heart twisting in his chest.

Every time he wakes, he asks the same question and, every time, Hotch answers without fail.

 

 

“What do the doctors say?” Morgan asks, standing by the door with Naemaria by his legs.

Hotch doesn’t meet his eyes. “To wait.”

He spends his time counting the rise and fall of Reid’s chest, and being thankful for every breath.

 

 

Garcia brings flowers and balloons shaped like happy animals, tying them to the end of the bed where they bob and weave with the breeze from the air conditioner. JJ makes Hotch eat and scolds him when she finds him dozing in the stiff-backed hospital chair, but she avoids looking straight at Reid and never asks how he’s doing. Gideon doesn’t come at all, but every day Hotch’s cell trills with a text asking if there’s been any change. Hotch doesn’t reply to any of them, but that’s answer enough.

Prentiss spends the most time with them, sitting on the other chair with a book of crosswords and occasionally rearranging the blankets around Reid’s sleeping form. Sergio jumps up on the bed next to Reid, curled up against his leg and purring determinedly. Every time Hotch looks up and he seems the small ball of fur on the white blankets, his heart skips a beat.

Reid wakes up occasionally but his words are quiet and lost. Hotch doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop talking, even though the sound of his confusion is impossible to listen to.

 

 

“There’s very little physically wrong with him,” the doctor says on the fifth day, avoiding looking at the bed with the dæmonless man sitting beside it, head bowed. “He can go home.”

“I can’t go home,” Reid says when the doctor leaves and Hotch is quietly packing his bag for him. “It’s gone away.” Hotch thinks of Diana and the fear in Reid’s voice when he’d talked about inheriting her condition, and he says nothing.

In the car, Reid looks out the window and flinches every time he sees a dæmon.

 

 

Reid stays with him because Hotch won’t let him go home, and he does improve.

Four days after the hospital, Hotch finds him reading a book as he’s gathering his work gear. Hal stays behind Hotch’s legs as he looks down at his friend, uncertain around this new, vacant Reid.

“Feeling better?” Hotch asks, keeping his voice light.

 “Don’t patronize me,” Reid says monotonously, one hand dropping to his side as though to reach for something that isn’t there.

Hotch stays late at the office that night.

And the next.

 

 

Eight days after the hospital, Hotch is lying awake when his door opens and Reid slips into the room, his feet padding quietly across the carpet. He climbs into the bed next to Hotch and slides cold hands around his torso to pull him close. Hotch doesn’t stop him, but, when Reid leans in to kiss him, he flinches away involuntarily.

He knows what he’s done a moment too late, but when he tries to explain, Reid just gets up and leaves, closing the door gently behind him.

When he gets home from work the next day, Reid’s gone.

He lets him go.

 

 

His phone rings loudly and he almost jumps out of his skin at the sudden noise echoing through his quiet house.

“Haley?” he asks in confusion, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

There’s a soft breath as though she’s trying not to cry, and she says two words that take his mind away from worrying about Spencer Reid for the first time in two weeks.

“I’m pregnant.”

 

 

He goes to Reid’s, because a month ago that’s where he’d have gone if he needed to talk and he hasn’t quite come to terms with the change of things yet. Reid answers the door. There’s an empty space by his heels that Hotch can’t look at. He’s lost weight, too much of it, and his hair is lank and unwashed.

“Hi,” Reid says simply, moving away before Hal can enter the room.

“Haley’s pregnant.” Hotch watches Reid carefully for a reaction, trying to see some sort of confirmation that the old Spencer Reid is still somewhere in this pale copy.

“Oh.” Reid runs a hand through his hair and tilts his head at him, a habit he’d picked up from his hare and which drives a stake right through Hotch’s heart to see. “Yours?”

“Yes.” He tries to explain; feels he owes Reid that much at least. “It was from before. I spent one night with her, I don’t know why. We weren’t… us.”

Reid sips at a coffee and pulls a face as he realizes it’s gone cold, pushing it away with an irritated expression. “There is no us.” His eyes narrow, and Hotch braces as he realizes that Reid intends to wound him with his next words. “I don’t think there ever really was.”

It still hurts.

 

 

Reid comes back to work and he’s still brilliant, still the smartest person in the room. But he doesn’t smile anymore and there’s no life in his voice when he tells them the information they need to know to solve their cases.

He’s taken to carrying around one of the metal capsules that agents with insect dæmons use to keep them safe, as though the act of wearing it on his belt will stall any questions about his dæmonless state. It doesn’t work. Everyone who looks at him knows immediately what he’s become.

“You’re not even trying to get better, are you?” JJ snaps one day, her eyes wide with pain. “Do you even care that you’re slipping away?”

“Why would I?” Reid asks without raising his voice, before calmly turning back to his work.

Hotch isn’t sure he blames him.

 

 

“He wasn’t like this when we found him,” JJ says later. “He was better than this. He’s just waiting to die now.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Hotch promises, but he has no idea what to say.

He follows Reid out, as though to say something to him about JJ’s outburst, but he can’t find the words and Reid doesn’t seem inclined to wait for him to try. Hal blocks the door, lowering her head and Reid almost falls backwards over himself in a desperate attempt to not touch the dæmon.

“You made us feel not alone anymore,” Hal says accusingly, tail firmly between her legs. “We love you. Aureilo wouldn’t want this.”

“Please,” Hotch breathes, not even sure what he’s asking anymore. “Come back to us, Spencer.”

Reid looks at him with blank eyes and says, “I don’t know how.”

 

 

The next day, Hotch walks into the office with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Reid looks up from his desk and smiles in greeting. Hotch smiles warily back, Hal stiff-shouldered at his side.

During the briefing, Reid is alight with life and eagerly offering theories and suggestions for the case. The rest of the team watch him with varying expressions, none of them sure what to make of this sudden change. By the end of the day, he’s flat, exhausted, and his eyes are bruised looking. Hotch puts a careful hand on his shoulder as Reid makes his slow way to the exit, feeling the younger man almost twitch out of his grasp with shock.

“What you did today,” Hotch begins carefully, seeing the suspicion on his friend’s face, “that was good. It was good, Reid. Thank you.”

Reid smiles at him tiredly, but his eyes are wide with pain and Hotch doesn’t know why.

 

 

“You’re too skinny,” Hotch says by way of explanation when Reid opens his apartment door to him holding bags of food. “Indian?”

They eat their food, occasionally talking about the case or their team, and it’s so normal that Hotch has to stop himself from looking about to offer a bean to the hare. When they’re done, he takes Reid’s plate and notes that Reid has picked all the beans out and left them in a neat pile to the side.

Hotch scrapes them into the bin with shaking hands.

Reid comes up behind him as he rinses the plates, wrapping his arms around his hips and tucking his chin against his shoulder. Hotch shivers, barely resisting the urge to lean back into that embrace. “Haley?” Reid mumbles into his neck.

“Keeping the baby,” Hotch replies, “but we’re not together. She wants me in the baby’s life, not in hers.”

Reid kisses his neck, mouthing hungrily at the skin and Hotch turns to take him fully into his arms and pull him close. “You’ll make a great dad,” Reid says, pressing against him and nipping at his earlobe. Hotch hums in agreement and kisses him like it’s the last time.

If there’s anything they’ve learned, it’s that it could be.

Somehow, they make their way to the bed, and Reid flinches away when Hotch flicks on a light. “You’ve never been shy before,” he teases as Reid pulls the blankets over his shoulders self-consciously. He turns it off anyway, sliding between the sheets and curling himself around the other man. It’s been weeks, long terrible weeks, since Hotch has last held him like this, and he’s vividly aware that he’s not the only one shaking with withheld emotion. Reid is warm and alive under his hands, and he can’t help but think of how Aureilo had felt in his hands during those final moments.

“You’re alive, you’re alive,” he mutters feverishly into Reid’s hair, realizing how close they’d come to never having this again.

“Stop thinking,” Reid tells him, ducking under the covers and trailing kisses down Hotch’s chest and stomach.

He does, until: “Are you sure?” he asks when Reid leans over and slips the thin foil packet into his hand. “Spence…”

Reid snorts, rolling his eyes at him. “I’m not some quailing virgin, Aaron. You don’t have to protect me.”

When Hotch finally agrees and presses into him with a sharp hiss, he thinks suddenly that Hal wasn’t lying when she’d told Reid that they love him. But he doesn’t say it, because it’s not the right time. Instead, he silently shapes the words into Reid’s hair, feeling him tremble as though he’d heard them.

Hotch is inside him and panting hot air onto the back of his neck when Reid makes a startled noise and lurches under him. “Are you okay?” Hotch asks, freezing in place. “Did I hurt you?”

Reid shakes his head violently, eyes distant as though he’s listening for something from far away. “Keep going,” he groans, voice needy and low.

“I felt it too,” Hal says later, when Reid is sprawled deeply asleep in the bed next to him. She leans her head against the blanket, peering at the other man worriedly. “Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t feel anything. What did it feel like?”

“Like _him_.”

 

 

Hotch wakes in the morning and Reid is still asleep, naked except for the sheet tumbled about his legs. Hotch rolls onto his side and examines the other man critically, the sharp outline of Reid’s ribcage and the shadows of veins under the skin.

His lips are on Reid’s collarbone when he sees them. They’re a rash of red on the inside of Reid’s arm, marked vividly against pale skin. They’re a confirmation Hotch has failed him. Each track mark is a symbol of Reid’s inability to cope alone and Hotch’s inability to reach him in time.

His own words come back to haunt him through the ice-cold shock of this betrayal, _“What you did today… that was good.”_

And only possible because he’d been high.

He sits up and turns his head away so he doesn’t have to face the sight of his inability to notice that his friend is struggling. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the suggestion of a slim, long-eared form splayed against the dark shape of Hal barely awake on the floor.

When he looks at her clearly, she’s alone.

 

 

It takes him an hour to find them, but eventually he does. He walks back into the bedroom with the box of needles and bottles held in front of him like an accusation, his heart thudding dully in his chest.

Reid is sitting bolt upright in the bed with wild, staring eyes, and he turns to look at Hotch without even acknowledging the box in his hands.

“Spencer,” Hotch says, putting the box on the bed and reaching for his shoulder, thinking of shaking him, snapping him out of it. _Is he having a fit?_

Reid breathes out slowly and shakes his head as though trying to clear it, calling out with a strangled, painfully hopeful voice, “Aureilo?”


	5. Like waking up.

Reid wakes up and _he’s_ there.

He can feel him in the hammering of his heart and the fading traces of the drug in his veins, the hollow emptiness that had claimed him finally clearing slightly. At some point Hotch must have left the room, because he’s standing by the door with a box in his hands, but Reid can’t think, can’t react because every part of him is focused on that narrow thread of _something_.

“Spencer?” Hotch says, voice distant.

Reid shakes his head, trying to focus on his boss and failing. “Aureilo?” he whispers, feeling the brush of warm fur on his arm, achingly familiar.

When he turns his head, there’s nothing there.

 

 

Hotch puts the box aside and says nothing as Reid paces the apartment, his eyes unheeding. Something’s wrong, something is horribly wrong, because nothing he says seems to make any difference in the erratic, panicked movements of the other man.

“What are you doing?” he finally shouts, patience worn thin by the apprehension that chokes him. Hal cowers at his legs, trying to draw into herself with fear.

Spencer whirls on him, and, for a single moment, it’s like he’s just come to some amazing deduction in a case that that he wants to share. “Looking!” he cries, and his voice is strained. “Why aren’t you?”

“There’s nothing there, Spencer,” Hotch says, carefully reaching for the other man’s arm as Reid rubs obsessively at the crook of his elbow, leaving the skin sore and red. He can’t help but think of Reid in the hospital, confused and lost, calling for people who hadn’t been there.

He can’t help but fear this is him losing what’s left of his mind.

Furious, hazel eyes snap up to meet his. “What do you know?” The pacing resumes. Hotch waits for an hour, then picks up the box and leaves. Reid watches him go and says nothing.

 

 

Reid waits until the sounds of Hotch and Hal’s footsteps have faded before putting the chain on the door and going to his bedroom to slide the packet out from within the inner slip of the mattress. Something has changed. Something had almost brought his dæmon back, he’d felt it. There are only two possibilities, and this is the clearest. It took him away; it will bring him back. That’s logical. Hotch can’t fault his logic.

Reid pushes the syringe through the lid of the bottle and withdraws the clear liquid, carefully calculating enough to clear the emptiness and loss away for a while.

Then he draws more.

It’s always good to have options.

 

 

“We should go back,” Hal says suddenly. Hotch’s hands tighten on the wheel, feeling her worry scrabbling at the back of his mind like a rat in a wall. “We need to go back.”

“He’ll be fine,” Hotch replies with gritted teeth, because he can’t watch Reid tearing himself apart. He can’t watch him lose himself. And he can’t face his own temptation to give the box back, because while he’d been high, he’d been _Spencer_.

 

 

He can’t lay in the bedroom, because the whole room still smells of them together; filled with the emotion that Hotch doesn’t know how to voice and Reid doesn’t know how to feel. He can’t curl up on the couch and watch shadows from the curtains flicker on the walls, because the couch still holds the memory of their first time. He can’t be anywhere Aaron has touched, because he’s not so far gone that he doesn’t realize this is a betrayal.

Instead, he lies on the cool tiles in the kitchen and stares at the roof, listening intently for the sound of paws scrabbling awkwardly across the slippery floor.

 

 

There’s a flash of brown in front of the car as something small and fast dashes past, dangerously close to the wheels. Hotch slams on the brakes and stares blankly at the road. “Did you see that?” he says to Hal.

She looks at him and he realizes she’s shaking. “We need to go back,” she repeats, and shudders violently, eyes glazed and staring.

 

 

There’s several ways to feel nothing, Reid’s found. There’s the way he’s been since Hankel, disconnected and empty. That’s the hard way. Then there’s this.

This is better.

Something warm leans against his shoulder and a damp tongue cleans tears off his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

He wants to say welcome back, but he can’t find the words.

 

 

The chain is on; Hotch doesn’t hesitate before he boots the door in, wood splintering easily under his foot. He hears a scream up the hall and someone running. He doesn’t care because he knows, somehow, he knows; he’s already too late.

Reid lifts his head from where he’s lying on his back on the kitchen floor, blinking blearily. Hotch walks over there with legs that feel unsteady and looks down, trying to know what he’s done and if it can be fixed. Reid lets his head fall back loosely, says nothing, and his pupils are pinpoints that have turned his eyes into wide pools of empty hazel. Hotch can’t look away from them, despite the fear that they bring.

He feels for a pulse with hands that shake and finds it sluggish and slow. “How much did you take?” he asks with a calm he doesn’t feel, reaching down for his cell and feeling Hal brush against him as she paces in anxious circles.

Reid doesn’t answer; he just closes his eyes.

 

 

They’re waiting again for one of their own to wake up, but this time the atmosphere is different. Garcia and Morgan are still sitting as close together as possible, Gideon still waits off to the side with a distant expression. This time, Emily is there to watch him pacing the hall. JJ sits by Emily and picks anxiously at her nails. None of them talk. It’s different.

He walks over to Gideon, because last time this had happened, he’d had Spencer to talk to and to give him awful coffee; the loneliness of the moment drags at him. “You did the right thing,” Gideon says, looking up and narrowing his eyes. It’s Hotch’s turn to silently beg for forgiveness.

They’re not supposed to profile each other, but Hotch knows he’s wearing his guilt as a second skin. “Are you so sure?” After all, if he was Reid and facing a life missing half of himself, he isn’t sure he wouldn’t have done the same.

Gideon takes a deep breath. “No.”

 

 

Emily goes in the room first, Hotch hanging back, not yet willing to see the disappointment in Reid’s eyes. She freezes in the doorway, her mouth opening slightly. Hotch steps forward, panicked for a moment, suddenly sure that Reid is gone, has gotten his wish and slipped away while their backs were turned. Gone to join his hare.

He’s still there, laying in the bed on his side with his knees curled to his chest, asleep.

He’s not alone.

Aureilo is a shadow of the creature he used to be, skin and thin fur strung tightly over the skeleton of a hare. Hotch spends an hour just examining him, too scared to even reach over and touch the sleeping dæmon, even just to check that he’s real and alive. Hal has no such reservations, sitting on the floor next to Reid’s bed with her head on the sheets and gazing intently, occasionally reaching forward and nudging her nose against his flank.

“Is he really here?” Hotch finally asks.

Hal’s tail wags slightly and she tilts her head to look at him out the corner of her eye. “I don’t think he ever really left.”

 

 

Reid sits up and Aureilo is there, a warm, familiar presence by his side. He wonders for a moment if he’s dead.

He feels too sick to be dead.

“It worked,” he says numbly, and hears a rush of movement as Hotch bolts upright in his chair.

The hare opens a bleary eye and stares at him disapprovingly. “Don’t do it again, idiot,” he grumbles, sitting upright as slowly as though he’d aged fifty years in a month. “I’m bored of feeling nothing.”

Reid curls his arms around the hare, pulls him close to his chest and feels their heartbeats chime in unison, and he sobs as though something inside him has broken and let every horror of the last month rush out, leaving him hollow and cleansed. “Don’t leave me,” he mumbles into the manky fur. “I can’t bear it again.” Hotch hugs Hal to him and closes his eyes, giving them privacy as he breathes in the scent of her fur.

Later, when the doctors have finally left them alone and Reid has recovered slightly from the shell-shocked state he’d been in, Hal leans her head against Aureilo’s side. “What was it like?” she asks curiously, the two men freezing at the casual question. “Coming back?”

For the first time, Reid answers a question aimed at his dæmon as the hare is lost for words.

“Like waking up.”


	6. Hal sees her first.

Every eye in the bullpen turns to look at Reid as he steps through the doors, his eyes bruised and clothes hanging off a lank frame. At his feet, as close as he can possibly be without tripping the man up, Aureilo moves with hesitant strides, still emaciated. Hotch freezes from where he’s standing with Gideon. JJ takes a single uncertain step and wavers as Reid takes the stairs without making eye contact with any of them. He looks like a man on Death’s door.

To Hotch, he’s never looked better.

Strauss steps out of her office with a cold expression and Reid disappears within, the door closing firmly and sealing the rest of them out. They’re in there for hours, but when Reid finally opens the door and exits, he doesn’t say a word to any of his team.

He just leaves.

“Rehab, six-month minimum,” Strauss says as soon as Hotch walks in, not even looking up from the paperwork on her desk. At her feet, her clouded leopard dæmon flicks his tail and narrows his gaze at Hal in warning. “I’ve pulled some strings to keep his name quiet. If he succeeds in his treatment, and _only_ if he succeeds in his treatment, he’ll be reinstated to his full position without comment but with monthly psych evaluations.”

There’s silence in the room as she waits for Hotch to explode, to argue and rally against her for daring to take a team member away for half a year.

Hotch thinks of Reid on the cold tiles letting his life ebb away without a thought. “Understood.”

She calls out to him as he turns to leave, and her tone is a warning. “You and Jason need to keep a better hold on your team, Aaron.”

“Ma’am?”

“This is the second agent you’ve almost lost in as many a month. You’re pushing them too hard. Who’ll break next?”

He replies, “That’s the nature of the work ma’am,” but, as he leaves, he wonders: who will be next?

 

 

“It’s three hours away by car,” Reid says softly when he opens the door to Hotch that night. “I need to be there by morning.”

Hotch looks past him to the suitcase sitting open on the kitchen table, filled with the bare minimum of neatly folded clothes and a tight jumble of books. “I’ll drive you,” he offers.

Reid is quiet in the car, and Hotch is hyperaware of Hal and Aureilo snuggled together in the backseat even though there’s never been more distance between him and Reid.

“Your kid will be here by the time I get out,” Reid mumbles into the glass.

“Nothing will have changed.”

“You will have.”

When he gets out at the centre, Hotch pulls him close and kisses him. It’s a chaste kiss, a promise of more. A reassurance that he’ll wait. “I’m scared,” Reid admits, pressing his face into Hotch’s shoulder and breathing in his scent as though to commit it to memory. Hotch shivers, hearing Aureilo’s voice behind Spencer’s soft words, the harsh recollection of the last time he’d heard that.

He waits until the doors close between him and Reid before getting in his car and driving away.

_Six months to go._

 

 

The bullpen is a little bit quieter and a lot more serious without Reid. They don’t laugh as much, mostly because his empty desk is a warning to all of them.

It happened to him, it can happen to you too.

 

 

Garcia keeps a little novelty calendar on her desk, with a funny quote for every day and break-away pages for as time passes. Hotch wanders in there one day looking for something and, while Garcia is rifling through her computer, he absently flicks through the sheets. _‘Junior-G Day!!_ _’_ is scrawled across the seventh of October in bright, cheerful handwriting, and Hotch quickly turns it back to June, feeling as though he’s seen something private.

It’s comforting to know he isn’t the only one keeping count.

 

 

Reid’s face is a carefully constructed facade over the plastic chessboard set on the table. He fiddles with the lacy trim of the table cloth as Hotch considers his next move, fingers dancing over the delicate material. Around them, visitors and patients bustle, but their attention is locked on the brightly coloured pieces.

“Move your knight, Aaron,” Aureilo says from his seat at a careful distance from the silent Hal, “or he’ll have you in check in five.” A wary smile teases the corner of Reid’s mouth. Hotch’s heart misses a beat at the sight. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen it.

“Traitor,” Reid murmurs, looking down fondly at the hare.

In the interim, Hal inches ever so slightly closer to the hare and the hare doesn’t inch away. Hotch closes the chessboard, letting his fingers linger near Reid’s. They don’t touch.

“Same time next month?” he asks with practised calm.

“Of course,” says Aureilo, letting his shoulder brush ever so slightly against the wolfdog’s leg.

It’s a start.

 

 

His cell rings right as he’s about to pick up his bag and get on the plane to go to Alabama.

“You might want to get to the hospital, because you’re about to be a dad,” Jessica warns him happily, the sound of Haley shouting something in the background muted by the connection.

Hotch hangs up, dazed, and meets Gideon’s eyes. “You miss this, you’ll never make up for it,” Gideon warns him, his face knowing.

He breaks the speed-limit on the way to the hospital, but can’t find it in his heart to care.

 

 

The first time he holds his son, he forgets how to breathe.

“He’s beautiful,” Hal murmurs, letting Haley’s lynx dæmon press against her fur in a rare show of affection.

“Perfect,” Kaelion agrees, looking to Haley and purring.

“I like ‘Jack’,” Haley says, leaning her head back and closing her eyes, exhausted. Hotch lets his son close his tiny fist around one of his fingers, marvelling at his grip.

“Hey, Jack,” he greets him, and he’s never loved anything more.

 

 

Hal sees her first.

“Aaron,” she says, sitting up and nudging Kaelion awake with her hind leg. Hotch lifts his gaze from the book he’s reading, hissing softly at the sight of Jack sprawled out asleep in his bassinet, one chubby hand fisted gently through the fur of a tiny kitten. Haley is awake too, and she takes Hotch’s hand as they watch their two dæmons lean against the bassinet, greeting the new dæmon. Kaelion stands on his hind legs on a lowered table placed there for that purpose. The lynx leans his nose in and nudges it against the tiny nose of the kitten, purring loudly.

“Arelys,” Hal says, meeting Hotch’s eyes, tail thumping happily against the leg of Haley’s bed.

For this time, they’re a family.

 

 

“So, what’s going to happen with you and Reid?” Emily asks one day as they travel home from a case, dropping heavily into the seat next to him.

Hotch blinks at her, taken aback by the blunt question. “Prentiss,” he warns her. Their business is their own.

Which is his way of admitting he has no idea.

“He’s a good influence on you,” she continues, blatantly ignoring him and nipping at her nails, Sergio wrapped around her neck like a curious scarf.

“He’s a manic insomniac who relies solely on books and coffee to survive, currently in rehab, and you think he’s a good influence on _me_?” Hotch asks, unable to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice. He’s a little louder than necessary, spotting Morgan and JJ both turn their heads, pretending badly not to be listening. Gideon ignores them, a twitch under his eye the only sign that he’d heard anything.

“You smile more when you’re around him,” Emily says in a lower voice, frowning at JJ. “It’s nice.”

He has no answer to that.

 

 

Frank comes into their lives like a looming spectre and when he leaves, he takes Gideon with him. Hotch sits at home with a glass of whiskey in his hand, thinking of the sealed letter he’d found in Gideon’s cabin addressed to Reid, and wonders how he’s going to break the news to their youngest member.

_“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,”_ Reid’s ghost whispers to him.

_None of us did this time,_ he thinks back, sadly.

 

 

David Rossi walks back into the BAU like he never left, with a wide happy-go-lucky grin and his Eurasian eagle owl dæmon perched on his arm regarding everyone with serious orange eyes. Hotch feels Hal sigh at the sight of the dæmon, not at all fooled by the regality of the bird’s bearing.

Hotch takes him out for a drink at the end of his first week back, oddly comforted by the familiar ritual.

“We never had this back in my day; teams and media liaisons,” Rossi says, draining his beer.

“Things are different now,” Hotch agrees, thinking of Spencer’s touch on his skin, and the way he’d nervously look to Hotch for approval before stating an opinion. _Two weeks to go._

Hal growls as Rossi’s dæmon picks up a pickled olive with a careful claw and drops it onto her head with a clack of her beak. “Not that different,” Rossi says with a wink, pushing the jar of olives away from his dæmon’s reach.

 

 

Hotch walks into the BAU a week before Reid is due to return and there’s a stranger sitting at Reid’s desk. Dressed impeccably in a short suit, the man is lanky and slender with light brown hair cropped close to his skull.

“Can I help you?” Hotch asks politely, stopping in surprise. The man turns and grins crookedly; it’s Reid and Hotch almost pulls him into his arms right there in front of everyone.

“Some profiler you are, forgetting us after only six months,” Aureilo snaps, popping his head up from where he’d been comfortably sprawled on the floor. “I knew this place would fall apart without us.” Hotch just smiles stupidly, revelling in the gleam of the hare’s fur, and the comforting colour of Reid’s face. They look _alive_.

“Is Hotch smiling?” Morgan exclaims, coming down the stairs with Emily at his heels, both gaping. JJ sees him first and her shriek alerts the rest of them, hurtling past to fling her arms around his neck.

“Spence!”

Hotch lets them surround their colleague, content to stand back and watch Reid laugh and chatter excitedly, eyes glittering with delight at seeing the friends he’d sorely missed.

“Full reinstatement, effective immediately,” Strauss says softly from behind him, entering the room with Rossi moments behind, a curious expression on his face. “I’ll have my eye on you all, be aware.”

She walks away and leaves him alone with Rossi. “So, this is Dr. Reid.” Rossi muses, peering past Garcia as the woman attempts to mimic some sort of hyper-active tea kettle. “He’s very… young.”

“He’s brilliant,” Hotch replies quickly, ever loyal.

Rossi fixes him with a glare, mouth twitching into a wicked smirk. “Interesting,” he states blandly, and Hotch’s heart sinks.

“David Rossi,” Reid stutters when Hotch introduces them, almost falling over himself in excitement. “I’ve read all your books, I’d love to talk about your theories sometime—” He stops abruptly as he places a coffee cup on the table and Rossi’s dæmon promptly flicks a pen into it with unerring accuracy.

“Eris,” Rossi says warningly, flinching as Reid’s tie is splattered with coffee droplets. Hotch twitches with the effort of holding back a smile at the stunned expressions on the rest of the faces in the room, something akin to shocked glee appearing rapidly on Emily’s. The owl hoots sadly, flapping over to an empty chair. She perches and tucks her head under her wing in disgust at Rossi’s disapproval. “You were saying?” Rossi asks Reid again politely, turning back to him.

“Err…” Reid stammers out, right as Aureilo tips the chair out from under the owl, filling the room with an explosion of frantic flapping and hoots.

Eris takes to Rossi’s shoulder for safety. She runs her beak through ruffled feathers and regards the hare through a round eye. “Well played, cottontail,” she says, tone impressed.

“Oh my god, there’s two of them,” Emily declares gleefully.

“Why didn’t I ever do that?” Hal whispers, ears perked up and clearly remembering all the times the owl had picked on her. Hotch closes his eyes and groans inwardly.

It’s certainly not going to be quiet around here anymore.


	7. We’re here, aren’t we?

There’s something so incredibly right about Spencer Reid standing in his living room examining the spines of the books on his bookcase that Hotch has trouble tearing his eyes away. It’s almost like stepping back in time, except for the slight differences. Gone is the long, awkward hair that Reid would use to hide away from the world when he was feeling exposed. Hotch isn’t entirely sure whether he likes the short, almost boyish cut that the man is sporting now. Then, Reid tilts his head back to scan the top shelf, and Hotch decides very quickly that he could grow to enjoy the haircut that exposes so much of the other man’s neck for him to relish.

“See anything you like?” Hotch asks, stepping into the living room and placing two tumblers of whiskey on the coffee table. Reid turns his head to smile at him, an odd gleam in his eye.

“I think so,” he says, smirking, and something in Hotch’s lower stomach jolts.

It’s like coming home.

 

 

Reid takes the framed photo from the shelf, staring hungrily at the contents. This is a Hotch he’s never seen before, seated in an unfamiliar armchair with his son in his arms and gazing adoringly down at him as though nothing else in the world exists.

“What do you think?” Hotch asks.

Reid laughs. “Hotch, every parent inevitably asks people what they think of their babies, and they never like it when people admit that every baby looks like a potato to them,” he teases, putting the photo down carefully.

Hotch snorts. “My son does not look like a potato.” Reid turns to face him and jumps when he finds that, at some point, Hotch has walked right up next to him, so close now that when he turns his shoulder brushes against the other man’s chest. “Sorry,” Hotch says, sounding nowhere near apologetic. His voice is low and husky and Reid finds himself licking his lips nervously at the sound of it, heat coiling in his lower stomach region. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Reid stutters, feeling his face flush. Brilliant. First day back, and he’s already making a tool of himself. “I was distracted.”

Hotch reaches out and Reid has to focus not to instinctively flinch away, unused to human contact again after the six months away. “What’s with this?” Hotch inquires, voice teasing, tugging gently on the hem of Reid’s suit jacket. “Very formal, Dr. Reid. What happened to the sweater vests?”

Reid hates working with profilers. “I felt like a change,” he replies, feeling the skin of his chest tingle where Hotch’s hand trails along the material, fingers deftly undoing the buttons one-handed. “What are you doing?”

Hotch slips the jacket from his shoulders, carefully laying it across one of the armchairs. “You’re overdressed.”

Reid frowns. He’d thought Hotch would have appreciated his extra attempt at professionalism after the circumstances behind his leave of absence. “I thought you’d like it.”

Hotch chuckles, slipping the knot of Reid’s tie down and leaving it hanging loosely on his neck. His eyes flicker down, lingering very obviously on Reid’s trousers for a moment. “I do. It’s very… flattering. I meant, you’re overdressed for what I’m about to do.”

Oh. _Oh_. Well, that answers whether or not Hotch is still interested in a recovering drug addict fresh out of rehab with a basketful of mental issues to boot. Reid _had_ wondered. He opens his suddenly very dry mouth to answer and finds himself being pulled forward by his tie into Hotch’s arms, their mouths meeting firmly. Hotch kisses him like he’s the addict getting his fix. Reid is almost overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, feeling the hard nip of teeth on his lips as Hotch crowds against him, his back knocking against the bookcase. As quickly as he’d began, Hotch stops, breaking the kiss with a pained gasp and holding his mouth against Reid’s gently, taking a moment where they pant against each other. Reid can feel Hotch’s heart slamming in his chest, his arm wrapped tightly around his torso.

“I missed this,” Reid murmurs, lips brushing against Hotch’s as he speaks. Hotch shudders slightly with the words, opening his eyes and looking at Reid intently.

“I missed you,” Hotch says, and kisses him again, calmer this time but no less passionately.

 

 

He takes Spencer to bed and this time the man doesn’t try to hide away from his gaze under the covers. Hotch takes a moment to run his hand down Reid’s arm, feeling the slight bumps where the scarring will forever mar the skin; a reminder of what they’d had and almost lost.

“Leave it,” Reid says, trying to pull his arm away self-consciously. Hotch just holds it tighter and brushes his lips against the scars. “Aaron…”

“Shh,” he replies, sliding into the bed next to the slender body and curling against him, tucking his head against his shoulder. They’re both naked, having wordlessly shed their clothes as they entered the room. It’s oddly reassuring to see Reid without the overly formal suit he’d worn that day, still the same man underneath. He’d worn the clothes as a shield against their judgment, trying to pre-emptively protect himself from imagined scorn. As flattering as the trousers were, Hotch quietly makes plans to encourage the return of the sweater-vests and cardigans of old. Reid doesn’t need to prove to them that he’s back; he just needs to be himself.

He presses his mouth to Reid’s neck, running his lips gently along the soft skin until he reaches the spot just under his ear that makes him tense and hiss out air sharply, his renewed interest in the proceedings becoming plain against Hotch’s hip. A long arm snakes around Hotch’s back, Reid’s hand settling on his spine and pulling him close. Hotch lets himself be drawn in, lowering his attentions to Reid’s collarbone, running his tongue gently against the dip of skin above the bone and sucking moderately hard, intending to leave a mark easily covered by his collar.

He’ll know it’s there and that’s enough for him.

Reid shivers in his grasp, arching into him, eyes closed. “Tease,” Hotch hisses against his neck, feeling himself harden with a hot rush of hunger as Reid’s hips roll against him, almost involuntarily.

Reid’s eyes snap open and he regards Hotch with a hurt gaze. “I’m not even doing anything,” he complains, wriggling down so he can lean forward and slide his lips along Hotch’s mouth, his own flavoured with whiskey and a hint of stale coffee.

“You do in your entirety,” Hotch admits when they break apart. “Everything about you is irresistible, Spencer.” Spencer now, because Hotch is done with having distance between them. Not now he’s finally got him here—got him _home._

Spencer pulls a face, nose wrinkling. “That’s the worst pick-up line ever,” he scolds, looking disappointed and flattered at the same time. “And factually incorrect. You don’t like my hair.”

Hotch frowns, eyeing Spencer’s neck and the rapidly darkening mark on his collarbone. “I love your hair.”

“No, you like my neck. You don’t like my hair because it makes me look younger, which makes you feel uncomfortable about the differences in our ages.”

“Reid.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Spencer starts to shake against him and Hotch panics for a second, thinking he’s upset him until he realizes that the man is trying not to laugh. He rolls his eyes at him, choosing to retain some dignity by returning to his previous activities and trailing his lips down Spencer's bare chest, taking a moment to delight in ribs that are still visible but nowhere near as pronounced before running his tongue down his stomach temptingly.

Spencer stops laughing. “Aaron what are you doing?” he asks suspiciously, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “You don’t need to, I was, _oh…_ ”

Hotch put a hand on the man’s hip to stop the sudden buck of them from choking him as his words cut away abruptly into a shocked moan, Spencer’s hand finding his hair and carding through it, gripping tightly. He can feel the tension in his partner’s thighs, almost quivering with the shock of the unexpected wet warmth around him. He takes his time, teasing with his tongue and his lips, and when Spencer finally whimpers and stiffens under him, he draws it out as long as he can until the other man is breathless and lost. Re-joining him at the head of the bed, he almost groans at the expression on Spencer’s face. His flushed cheeks and hooded eyes give him a distinctive well-fucked appearance that goes straight to Hotch’s own cock.

Spencer doesn’t hesitate, sitting up and pulling him into a bruising kiss with the taste of him still on Hotch’s lips, tongue flickering into his mouth and leaving him gasping. When Spencer pulls him close and wraps his hand around him, it’s all Hotch can do to slump against him and let the sensation crash over him, kissing him hard as he follows him over the edge.

“I missed you too,” Spencer says finally, when Hotch can move enough to open an eye and look at him blearily.

He’s smiling.

 

 

Reid wakes up sprawled across three quarters of the bed, Aaron curled on his side against the edge, still peacefully asleep. Guiltily, he regains his limbs and rolls onto his side, examining Aaron in the dim light filtering through the curtains. A soft yawn from the other side of the bed alerts him to the two dæmons, both blinking sleepily at him, Aureilo tucked tightly against Hal’s chest. When he looks back at Aaron, the man’s eyes are open and he’s regarding Reid with the kind of scrutiny that Reid himself only ever uses on particularly thrilling puzzles or a fresh geographical profile. It’s unsettling.

“What does this mean then?” Aaron asks suddenly, breaking the peace of the moment.

Reid swallows hard before answering, nerves almost closing his throat and stealing his words. “What does what mean?”

“For us?” He leans in and brushes his lips against Reid’s—ignoring what is probably terrible morning breath—in a feather-light kiss. “I’ve waited six months to know if there’s a us. If you want there to be a us.”

Reid’s not really used to people actively seeking relationships with him, and he doesn’t know how to answer, the moment stretching out into eternity. Fortunately, he has someone much better at articulating his emotions than he is.

“Of course there’s an us,” Aureilo grumbles from the floor, digging his toes into the carpet. “We’re here, aren’t we? Now go back to sleep, it’s a weekend.”

“Idiots,” Hal adds softly, laying her head back down and closing her eyes.

 

 

Reid vanishes from the bullpen that Monday for two hours before Morgan brings it to Hotch’s attention, Naemaria hovering anxiously at his heels. Hotch finds him in Archives with the cases from the last six months spread about him, reading intently. Aureilo sits next to him, head turned to the side to allow him to scan the pages as his human does, just as engaged.

“Would I have made a difference?” Reid asks suddenly, looking up at him with a harried expression. “If I was here, could we have saved more lives? Done better?”

Hotch walks over to him and takes the files out of his slack hand, not at all surprised to see Frank sneering back at him. “You’ll drive yourself mad thinking about what could have happened instead of what did happen. You weren’t here, that’s the end of it.”

Reid bites his lip and flicks his head, a nervous tick leftover from the days when his hair hung messily in his eyes. “What about Gideon?” he says finally, and Hotch’s stomach drops. He’d known this was coming. “Could I have changed what happened?”

He thinks of the darkness in Gideon’s eyes, his past building on the man’s shoulders until it had crushed him. “No one could have changed what happened with Gideon,” he admits, dropping Frank’s file into the box. “Least of all Gideon.”

 

 

“She’s planning something,” Aureilo announces, sitting on his desk and eyeing the closed blinds of Rossi’s office. “She’s in there with him and she’s planning something, I just know it.” Reid hums non-committedly, watching Hotch through his own blinds as the man busily ploughs through an ocean’s worth of paperwork. “You know, he pretends to not be paying attention, but there is no way Eris got those carrots into our drawers alone,” Aureilo continues, ignoring his distraction. “You child-proofed them to stop me from eating your candy—they require opposable thumbs, for one thing.”

“Hmm,” Reid answers, leaning back in his chair and wondering absently how adverse Hotch would be to slipping out for lunch. He’s an addict after all. He requires his fix.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Aureilo says suddenly, affixing him with a hurt gaze. “You know; Emily never treats Sergio like this. She _values_ his opinion.”

Reid doesn’t even hear him, lost in his own mind, and the hare sniffs loudly before hopping down and ambling over to Emily’s desk to sulk next to the sleeping Sergio.

 

 

He can’t _think._ Every time he tries to focus on the case, his gaze wanders back over to Reid pacing around the crime-scene with his face thoughtful, Aureilo glued to his heels. That more than anything drives home how much things have changed, even if on the surface they’re all trying to pretend it’s the same. Before Hankel, Aureilo had tended to do his own thing when Reid was on cases and rarely made appearances at the crime-scenes. Now, he’s never more than a few feet away from his human, one eye always locked on him. Hotch finds himself doing the same, turning his head instinctively to make sure Reid is still there, still fine, heart in his throat.

“You need to give him a chance to find his feet,” Rossi says suddenly, appearing at his side like he’d been summoned. “He can’t do that with you hovering.”

“I’m not hovering,” Hotch says defensively. “Am I?”

“Like an over-protective mother helicopter,” Rossi replies dryly.

Hotch waits for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Alright. I’m going back to the station with Morgan to get started on the profile. I’ll see you guys there.”

Rossi nods, looking pleased, and when Hotch walks away it takes every bit of will-power he possesses not to look back.

 

 

He’s in bed flicking quickly through a book with Aaron fast asleep on one side and Aureilo stretched out on the other, feeling mildly hemmed in by the warmth of them both, when Aaron’s cell rings sharply. Aaron switches straight from asleep to alert, reaching up for the cell on the second ring and answering it with a crisp, “Hotchner.”

Reid’s impressed.

His first hint that something is wrong is when Hal bolts upright from where she’s snoozing at the foot of the bed, too big to sleep up with the humans, her ears perked up in worry. A sharp inhale of breath from the man next to him takes all the air from Reid’s lungs. He knows what’s coming even before Aaron lowers the phone to turn to him, his eyes dark and almost frightened.

That scares Reid more than anything else.

“Garcia’s been shot.”


	8. All we have in the end

Being back in the hospital brings memories back that Hotch would rather had stayed buried. He’s fine right up until Spencer vanishes to find coffee and Hotch finds himself looking about for him, throat tightening anxiously when all he sees is empty space where he should be.

“What the hell happened? Who did this?” Morgan exclaims when he arrives, eyes still creased with sleep and shaking with fear and shock. Naemaria is a bristling, furious form by his side, even snarling at Hal when the wolfdog extends her muzzle in greeting.

“She’s in surgery,” Spencer answers coolly, reappearing at Hotch’s side with coffee and all of Hotch’s sanity; barely even seeming to register how his presence leeches the tension from his partner’s shoulders. “We don’t know who did it, the police are investigating. She’s going to be okay, Morgan.”

“She bloody better be,” Emily says, walking up with JJ at her side, both showing signs of having dressed in a hurry. “We need her.”

When the doctor comes out and says that two of them can go see her, Hotch and Morgan step forward as one. As Hotch walks away, Spencer touches his hand just once, but it’s a silent promise that he’ll still be there when he returns. Hotch should have known he couldn’t hide his fear from the younger profiler.

He can’t help but feel like every time Reid steps into a hospital, there’s always the chance he won’t leave.

 

 

Reid finds Morgan and Naemaria in the bathroom, Morgan bent over the sink and gasping as though he can’t quite breathe. Naemaria turns tortured eyes towards them, quivering with her tail tucked between her legs.

“She’s dying,” Morgan moans, face pale. “She’s just lying there like she’s dying. Garcia was never supposed to be hurt; she wasn’t supposed to ever be hurt. That’s not how this works.”

“She’s not dying,” Reid says softly, coming up behind him and carefully putting an arm around the man’s shaking shoulders. “She’s going to be okay, Morgan.”

Morgan turns and crumples into Reid’s arm, choking back what almost sounds like a sob. Startled, Reid pulls him into an awkward hug, letting the fear and misery of the past few hours leech out of the other man’s body. Aureilo hops up to Naemaria and tucks his head against her neck. “She wouldn’t want you to fall apart over this,” he scolds them in a soft voice. “She’d want you out there finding the bastard that did this to her.”

Morgan pulls away and his eyes are dry, as though nothing has happened. “Yeah,” he says quietly, blinking rapidly. He glances down, jolting slightly when he sees the dæmons. “Didn’t know you were the hugging type, Aureilo.”

The hare flicks his tail slightly, hazel eyes partially closed against the bright lights. “I wasn’t. But we’ve learnt not to push people away anymore.”

“All we have in the end is each other,” Reid adds, meeting Morgan’s eyes intently.

 

 

Garcia is a pale smudge in the centre of the multitude of machinery keeping her alive. Hotch and Hal are alone with her, Morgan having taken one look at her and walked out looking green.

Her magpie dæmon is lying next to her on his side, feet curled close to his dull chest. Hotch can’t look at the still feathers without remembering the sensation of a dæmon dissolving in his hands. “She’s going to be okay, right?” he asks Hal, unwilling to voice his doubts in front of the team.

Hal sniffs at Tupelo’s feathers, the exhale of air from her nose ruffling them gently. “Of course,” the dæmon replies. “Garcia is always okay in the end; she’s indomitable.”

Hotch believes her.

 

 

Garcia recovers slowly, and they quietly decide that she’s not going to be alone while she does so.

It’s his night.

“I brought movies and Indian food,” Reid chirps, holding them both up as a peace offering when she opens the door to him. “I didn’t know if you prefer black and white movies or subtitled ones, so I brought both.”

“Never stop being you,” Garcia says dryly, opening the door wider so he can duck through, Aureilo at his heels. Tupelo warbles a greeting to them from his perch by the TV.

“I don’t know how to be anyone else,” Reid answers seriously as he holds the DVDs up in front of the magpie for him to pick the first one.

 

 

Months pass quickly and the horror of that night fades away slowly, but Hotch can still see it lurking in the back of Garcia’s eyes every time she walks out the door. He wants to tell her there’s nothing to be afraid of, but they all know that’s not true. They know what lurks out there.

He finds Reid sitting in the bullpen one night, late enough that the lights have dimmed and even the cleaners had gone home, his head bent intently over a file. He looks alert to Hotch’s eye, but Aureilo betrays his exhaustion. Hal wanders over to the hare and runs her tongue down his flank, the tired hare barely even reacting from his sprawled position under Reid’s feet.

“What are you doing?” Hotch queries, looking over Reid’s shoulder and finding himself face-to-face with George Foyet’s cold eyes.

“He’ll come back,” Reid says, a strained note in his voice. “We didn’t do enough to stop him.”

Hotch reaches over and closes the file, settling his hands on his partner’s shoulders and squeezing tightly. “And when he does, we’ll catch him again,” he promises.

 

 

It goes wrong so frighteningly fast that for a moment even Reid’s brain can’t keep up. Hotch puts himself between his agent and Chester Hardwick in a heartbeat. Hal is bristling and snarling, mouth gaping, and, for the first time, Aureilo shrinks back from her in fear. The chain that connects Hardwick to his dæmon rattles as the muzzled hyena rears and advances on Hal with her back humped and hackles raised.

Hal is between Reid and the inmate, and Hotch couldn’t have showed his heart more clearly if he’d grabbed Reid and kissed him right there in front of the convict.

“You’re a coward,” Hotch spits, taking a step forward, and Reid can see the exact moment that this is all going to come crashing down.

“Chester, do you want to know why you killed those women?” Aureilo says suddenly, taking a loping stride forward to bring himself into the line of sight. “Earlier, you said you wished you were different.”

Hardwick freezes and stares at Aureilo like he can’t believe his eyes. “What? Are you talking to me, rabbit?”

Reid straightens and steps up next to his hare, seeing Hotch’s eyes widen. “No, we both are. And we can tell you why you killed them.”

“Why you are what you are,” Aureilo adds.

Reid and Aureilo take turns rambling whatever their brilliant minds can come up with, and Hardwick is enraptured, eyes flicking from one to the other. His hyena settles back, head tilted slightly and her eyes stay locked on the hare, gaze hungry.

When the guard comes to let them out, Reid almost trips over himself in his haste to get out of there, shirt sticking to his back with sweat and hands shaking.

“That was smart to get Hardwick to focus on himself,” Hotch says in the car. “Spencer? I’m sorry. For what I did in there.”

Aureilo is curled up in Reid’s lap with his back turned to Hal, and the frosty atmosphere is painful. “You antagonized the situation,” Reid mutters, ducking his head and closing his eyes, visions of what could have happened taunting him. “You put yourself between him and me without even thinking about using your mind before your fists. You let your personal feelings get in the way of your professionalism.” His voice is rising and he can hear the slight uptick in pitch which means he’s about to start shouting.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Hotch apologises, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “But what I did in there… I would have done no matter which of my team was in there with me. My team comes first, every time.”

Reid is silent, taking in that information. Aureilo comes to terms with it slightly quicker than he does, rising and hopping over the centre console to join Hal in the backseat.

“You did do well in there,” Hotch adds on, sensing Reid’s forgiveness.

“We’ve found that we do our best work under intense terror,” Aureilo mutters from behind them.

 

 

Jack pulls himself up, teetering awkwardly as he hangs off the couch, babbling to himself excitedly at his new trick. Hotch smiles at his son proudly, heart aching at the reminder that his son is growing up in leaps and bounds without him being there for half of it. Haley keeps him updated, but watching his son say ‘Mama’ on his cell phone screen is no comparison for the real thing.

Arelys wobbles around Jack’s feet on her own unsteady legs, mewling angrily as Jack takes a step and tumbles over her. Hal sighs, reaching out a patient paw to draw the kitten away from his human’s legs for the fifth time. “I was never this clumsy,” she scolds the kitten, who blinks up at her and licks her paw, happily purring.

Hotch scoops Jack into his lap, loosening his tie when the boy grabs at it and sticks it in his mouth. “I bet you were,” he teases her. “I bet you were all legs.”

Hal rumbles in her throat and lowers her head onto her front paws to feign sleep, ignoring Arelys as she takes the opportunity to bat at Hal’s large ears with tiny paws. Instead, she lets her tail thump on the floor a few times, an impossible temptation for the kitten to resist and far more preferable than kitten claws in the delicate lining of her ear. Jack laughs and crawls out of Hotch’s lap and over to Hal, burrowing into the thick fur of her tummy and helping his dæmon try to catch her whisking tail.

Hotch settles back on his knees, wondering how long it will be until Spencer will be here for these visits. He always makes himself scarce when Hotch has a personal weekend with his son, professing that he doesn’t want to intrude upon their limited time together. Hotch thinks of Spencer picking up Jack in his long, gentle hands and teaching him everything he knows or reading to him in his quiet careful manner. Something in his heart twists at the thought of it; increasingly unlikely fantasies of Spencer at Jack’s first day of school, or helping him with homework filtering through his head. Hotch will probably have to deal with the talks about girls, but the knowledge that Spencer will be at his side is warming.

Hal makes a soft, longing noise. “I want that too,” she admits quietly.

Hotch looks at his son and sighs, feeling their time slipping rapidly away. “What we want, we don’t always get.”

 

 

Reid is curled up on the jet reading when JJ sits next to him heavily and says in a matter-of-fact voice, “I’m dating Will LaMontagne.”

He closes the book slowly, putting it down and sitting up straight, eyeing her nervously. It’s Aureilo who speaks first. “We know.”

JJ shrugs. “I know you know. I just wanted you to know that I know that you know. And I wanted to tell someone. Thanks, guys.” She smiles warmly at them, hugs Reid quickly, and leaves.

Reid gapes as she walks back to her seat next to Emily and sits down, resuming her conversation as though nothing has changed. “I have no idea what just happened,” he finally says to Aureilo, picking his book back up. “I don’t understand women.”

Aureilo resumes licking at his fur, trying to groom it into some semblance of order. “Fortunately, we’re dating Aaron,” he tells Reid matter-of-factly. “So, your inexperience with women doesn’t come into it.”

Reid sinks back into his chair, face flushing. “If I’m inexperienced, you are too,” he grumbles.

A sharp snort is all he gets in return, his hare flatly ignoring him.

 

 

Spencer is trying to explain some wild theory from a physics book he’s reading when Hotch turns around from stirring spaghetti sauce and says loudly, “I want you to meet Jack this weekend.” Spencer stops, his face paling, and Hotch’s heart sinks when he realizes that he doesn’t want to. The most important person in Hotch’s life, and Spencer doesn’t want anything to do with him. Aureilo bolts into the next room after one look at Hal’s bristling fur, wanting no part of what’s coming.

It’s their first fight as a couple, seven months coming, and it’s blistering.

“I don’t want to be a part of his life!” Spencer shouts finally, his cheeks flushed. “Why can’t you respect that?”

“If you’re a part of my life, you’re a part of his,” Hotch snaps back. “You get us both or you get neither of us.”

Spencer walks away and closes his bedroom door firmly behind him. Hotch turns off the burners, still shaking, and considers leaving to let them both cool down. Instead, he quietly gets a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and makes a bed on the couch, tossing and turning for hours in the unsettling silence of Spencer’s apartment until he finally falls into a fitful sleep. Hal presses against him, taking up almost all of the limited space.

When he wakes, there’s a warm presence still against him. It’s Spencer instead of Hal and, with a lurch of Hotch’s gut, he notes the tacky traces of tears on his partner’s face, eyelashes still damp and sticky. He’s asleep, curled into himself, but Aureilo isn’t. Hotch eases himself up gently to look down on them, and the hare’s dark eyes look back from his place curled up under Spencer’s chin. Hotch wonders how many other times the hare has slept like that after his human had cried himself to sleep, licking away bitter tears as they fell.

“We don’t want to lose you,” Aureilo whispers, long ears flat against his back.

Hotch reaches his arm around Spencer to lay his hand on the hare’s flank, running gentle fingers down his spine. “You won’t,” he reassures him. “We’re not going anywhere.” Hal huffs in agreement from her place on the floor.

Spencer doesn’t wake up but he does relax, and the next time Hotch looks at him, his face is calmer.

 

 

Kate Joyner is everything he remembers her to be, and his heart skips slightly when he sees her. She looks up, her creamy coated wolf dæmon wagging his tail at the sight of Hal. Hotch greets her with a smile, and turns to introduce her to his team. She shakes their hands politely, delighted to be meeting them, and her grin is achingly familiar.

When she turns to Reid, his expression is frosty and he declines her hand with a shake of his head. “The number of pathogens passed by a handshake is staggering,” he says, eyes dark, before suddenly switching tack and shooting her a brilliant smile. “It’s actually safer to kiss.”

Kate looks as flustered as Hotch would have if he had been the focus of the charm that Reid so rarely utilized, and there’s a strange moment where everyone is staring at either Reid or Hotch, unsure of how to respond.

“Oh. Of course,” she says, smiling uncertainly, before turning back to Hotch. “Could we have a word in private?”

Hotch nods and shoots Reid a questioning glance, not liking it when the younger profiler refuses to meet his eyes.

What the hell was that about?

 

 

“They, um, liaised when she was at Scotland Yard,” JJ says as Joyner and Hotch disappear into another room.

“Of course,” Reid replies shortly. “I’m going to start the geographical profile.”

He walks away with their regard burning on the back of his neck, Aureilo, for once, staying silent.

 

 

“Is there a problem?” Hotch asks, spotting JJ looking cornered with a man hovering near her. Hal stalks by his side, ears perked up and attention focused on the stranger. He turns and Hotch blinks as he recognises Will LaMontagne, the cop from New Orleans. His pale-furred Alsatian dæmon is rigid at his side, ears locked ahead and posture ready.

“I’m pregnant,” JJ says suddenly, her own dæmon fluttering agitatedly around her head, and Hotch’s blood turns to ice at the thought of her on the streets during one of the most dangerous cases they’ve faced in months. For the first time all day, Reid’s bizarre behaviour is the last thing on his mind. Hal stiffens next to him and straightens sharply, and Hotch thinks to himself that anyone looking at her now wouldn’t doubt the dog in her.

Out of her and Will’s Alsatian, he can’t tell who looks the most protective.

 

 

Hotch steps out of the doors with Kate at his side, walking quickly towards the car. She reaches out a hand and brushes against him arm, brow furrowed in thought.

“Your agent, the clever one,” she says suddenly, accent soft. “He’s not just your agent, is he? I saw how he looked at you.”

Hotch stops and turns to her. “How did he look at me?”

She smiles. “Like I used to.”

The world explodes before he can answer her, reality disintegrating around him and the hollow sound of something howling following him down.


	9. Madness lurks behind calm eyes

_“Spencer,”_ Eris says sharply, her gaze locked on the screen of the TV. Reid and Rossi turn their heads in unison to the news report just in time to see one of their SUVs explode.

“Aaron,” Reid whispers, and Aureilo makes a broken noise at his knee.

Rossi pulls out his cell and dials frantically, saying nothing as Reid’s world slowly falls apart.

 

 

“Kate?” Hotch staggers up, ears buzzing emptily. Something’s wrong with his balance as he tilts and almost crumples to the ground, only managing to stay afoot from sheer determination. Hal appears at his side, mouth moving silently as she tries to speak to him through the buzzing. He leans on her as she tugs him in a direction, quivering under his hands. Her eyes are wild with fear and he can feel hollow echoes of her terror rebounding back at him. Kate is sitting on the road looking confused, flames reflected in her wide eyes. “Kate!” he shouts, voice distant. She turns to look at him, expression blank. “Are you hurt?”

Her mouth moves and she holds up hands that tremble compulsively, coated with blood. Suddenly her voice breaks through the buzzing, sharp and panicked. “It’s not mine, it’s not mine, it’s not mine,” she chatters, closing her eyes. “Help us.”

It’s then that he sees her dæmon.

 

 

Spencer is running as soon as his feet hit the asphalt, diving through the crowds of first responders and onlookers to get to the barricade, Aureilo rocketing ahead. There’s people, too many people, and dæmons everywhere. He kicks a spaniel accidentally, hearing both the dæmon and her human shriek in shock; almost steps on something brown and feathery that screeches and flaps out of the way; elbows a woman in the side as he tries to slip under her arm. _Get out of the way_! he wants to scream. _I have to get through!_

“Sir, you can’t go in there,” a policeman shouts, holding out his arm. Reid ducks it easily. The man’s dæmon doesn’t have a chance of stopping Aureilo as the hare proves his speed and leaps the barrier effortlessly.

“Like fuck we can’t!” Aureilo shouts back over his shoulder, spotting Aaron curled up in the middle of the road with Kate at his side.

Hal is running back and forth as far as she can get from them, shouting desperately at the bystanders. “Help us! We need help, please! He’s hurt!”

Aaron’s hurt.

 

 

One look at Kate’s face tells him that she’s too far gone to help him do this, and Hotch reaches down with steady hands, murmuring an apology to her as he goes. The wound in her dæmon’s back is horrific and his eyes are blank and unheeding, creamy coat matted with blood. It’s pooling around Hotch’s legs and sticking his trousers damply to his skin, and, even as he reaches into the wound and pinches the severed artery shut, he’s numbly thinking that there’s nothing they can do to fix this.

Kate’s gone quiet. When Hotch looks up at her to try and talk to her, to get her to keep her dæmon conscious and talking, it’s like looking back into his own past. She’s watching him with Spencer’s eyes. Spencer’s eyes from that shack in Georgia, and Hotch knows that it’s going to happen again. He’s going to watch another person he cares about lose everything.

“Aaron,” someone pants, the sound of running feet echoing up the empty street. They slow and Hotch hears a shocked inhalation of breath. Aureilo appears on the other side of the wolf dæmon, ears flat and nostrils flaring, white paws stained red.

“We need help,” Hotch says calmly to Spencer, turning his head and affixing his agent with what he hopes is a calm, controlled expression. Spencer’s eyes flicker down to the wolf, and something passes over his face that’s dark and haunted.

Hal is there, pressing heavily against his side and smelling strongly of smoke and blood. “There’s an ambulance coming.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Hotch says loudly. He’s not entirely sure who he’s talking to.

 

 

The paramedic is shaken to see Hotch with his hand literally inside the dæmon, holding his life inside him, but he recovers quickly and dons heavy gloves, helping to lift the motionless wolf onto the bed. Reid helps Kate, laying her down on the other bed and watching as she’s loaded in.

“Come with us,” Aaron asks once, turning back to look at him as they go to close the doors.

“I can’t,” Reid replies quietly, because he knows how this ends, and he can’t relive it. Aaron doesn’t ask again, but when Aureilo hops up into the ambulance and leans against Hal, he looks relieved.

 

 

When it happens, it happens quickly.

“Pieter,” Kate moans, curling up as though trying to hold herself together. Under Hotch’s hands, the wolf whines once and dissolves into gold. Hotch stares at the empty bed where the wolf had lain, splatters of blood and a light shimmer in the air the only proof that he’d ever existed at all.

He can’t look at her. He can’t look at another person he cares about and see them dying.

Hal gasps once and, when he turns his head reluctantly, Kate is holding Aureilo and looking down at him like he’s the only thing tethering her to life. Hotch watches in shock as she curls her hands around his side, cuddling him tightly, a soft pained keening the only sound in the ambulance except for the unsteady humming of her heart monitor.

The hare curls against her, head pressed to her chest, and his eyes locked on Hotch. “It’s okay to go,” he says softly. “It’s okay to follow him.”

She takes one last breath and dies with Aureilo in her lap, holding the dæmon until the very last.

 

 

Reid finds Aaron sitting in the hard-backed chairs at the hospital when it’s all over, Aureilo at his side and Hal at his feet. His skin still tingles strangely from Kate’s hands on his dæmon, but, somehow, it hadn’t been as bad as he remembers it being.

“Aaron?” he says nervously, seeing the truth in the defeated posture of his partner.

“Pieter died,” Aureilo replies, folding his ears back and tucking dark stained paws close to his body.

“Kate?”

“Followed him.”

Reid doesn’t say anything, but Aaron chooses that moment to turn tortured eyes onto him, and he knows that he can see the relief in Reid’s posture just as easily as Reid can see in him the blame he’s heaping on himself. “She was dead as soon as Pieter was hurt,” Reid states carefully. “You know surgery on dæmons has a failure rate in the high seventies.”

“She could have stayed,” Aaron snaps, and the pain in his voice takes Reid’s breath away.

_No,_ he thinks, but can’t find the words to explain why. The yearning he’d felt when Aureilo had gone to Dust, the constant allure of following his dæmon into the dark… he’d known it. And he’d never fight it if Aureilo went before him again. Not ever.

Aureilo shudders. “No, she couldn’t. Would you?”

 

 

Spencer doesn’t say anything when they return home and Hotch follows him to his own apartment. Nor does he say anything when that night Hal jumps onto the bed and presses against Hotch, even though there’s hardly enough room in the bed for two as it is.

As they lay awake, both pretending to the other that they’re sleeping, Hotch thinks to himself that he’s not sure who’s clinging the hardest; him to Hal, or Spencer to him.

 

 

Reid stays back with the team at Kate’s funeral, letting Aaron stand forward with her family and friends. They greet him with numb affection, and it’s a dull reminder of the past that the two of them had shared and never would again. Reid thinks of his jealousy of the woman, how he’d pushed her away without bothering to even get to know her, and he burns with regret. Even without knowing her, he knows that she must have been something amazing for Aaron to look at her how he had.

He can’t compete with that.

When they lower the coffin into the damp earth, Kate’s father steps forward with the large gold coin bearing the delicate image of an arctic wolf on one side and Pieter’s name on the other, and drops it in after her. The coin makes a hollow clunk and rolls as it hits the wooden coffin, and Reid’s knees almost buckle out from under him.

He thinks of a coin embossed with the image of a different canine, and only Morgan’s steadying hand on his arm keeps him upright.

 

 

The first time it happens, Hotch doesn’t notice. After all, it hadn’t been so long ago that Aureilo had pleased himself with his whereabouts and it wasn’t too unusual to see one without the other.

By the third time, he starts to suspect.

“Is Aureilo following me?” Hotch asks, cornering Reid in the break-room one lunch, Hal and the hare loping in after them.

“No,” Reid lies badly, the same time Aureilo pipes up with a cheerful, “Yes.”

“Why?”

Reid heaps two teaspoons of sugar into his coffee, stirring calmly. “Because I was worried.” He tastes it, pulling a face and adding two more.

Hotch bristles. “I don’t need you being overprotective, Reid.”

“Your hearing isn’t fully back yet, is it?” Reid asks quietly. “Aureilo said something to Hal before, and she didn’t even react. You can’t hear from your right ear. You shouldn’t even _be_ here.” Hotch swallows, the truth lingering unpleasantly between them. He _shouldn’t_ be here, Reid’s right. And the man can get him sent home in a heartbeat, by going to Strauss or even Rossi. Hotch doesn’t doubt that he will if he thinks Hotch is in danger. Aureilo shadowing him is the price he’s paying for Reid’s silence, and Hotch doesn’t know how to tell him how much the sight of Aureilo without his human by his side terrifies him now. Reid adds one more scoop of sugar, ignoring Hal’s disapproving rumble, and walks out, calling back: “I promise, next time I get in trouble, I won’t complain about you getting all overprotective over me if you let me have this.” Aureilo stays, looking smug.

Hal waits until Reid’s gone before rounding on the hare, looming over him threateningly. “Next time?” she exclaims.

 

 

There’s a next time.

“What is reportedly being called a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado child services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the sectarian sect,” states the news reader in a disinterested voice, as though she doesn’t even realize how her words freeze the blood of everyone in the room.

“That’s not the ranch where Prentiss and Reid…?” JJ murmurs, staring at the screen blankly. “Oh my god, they’re still inside.”

Hotch stands and calmly calls their attention to him, ignoring the violent hammering of his heart. Hal is by his side, a steady presence. “All right that means we're the lead with hostage rescue and support. Let’s go.”

He can be calm now. When this is over, he’s going to really have to talk to Reid about his inability to keep out of trouble for five goddamn minutes. Because this will be over. He can’t lose Reid twice.

He can’t.

 

 

Emily presses close enough to him that he can hear her nervous breathing. Sergio and Aureilo are at their feet, silent and crouched low, both trying to be unobtrusive.

“We’re in trouble,” she murmurs.

Reid looks down at the body of the child services officer, still glittering slightly from where her opossum dæmon had turned to Dust at the moment of her death and nods silently.

_Sorry, Aaron,_ he thinks wryly. _Guess next time came quicker than we expected._

 

 

“I’m putting you in charge of the negotiations,” Hotch tells Rossi as they exit the SUV at the bustling scene of the ranch.

Rossi stills, eyes flickering over him. “Me? Why go to the student when you have the teacher?” Eris ruffles her feathers on his shoulder, eyes dark.

Hotch takes a deep breath, knowing he’s about to cross a line they’d all wordlessly avoided until now. “Because the teacher is emotionally involved.” Because the teacher wants to rip apart the complex with his bare hands, and, if there’s a single bruise on the man he loves, he then wants a turn at Cyrus.

Rossi opens his mouth to argue, then closes it with a snap. “All right.”

 

 

The thing about Cyrus is how eerily sane he seems, even when Reid knows that madness lurks behind those calm eyes.

Madness aimed firmly at them.

“Which one of you is it?” he asks, smiling widely. His bald eagle dæmon peers down at them from the rafters, appearing completely unconcerned with the proceedings. “Which of you is the FBI agent?”

Reid’s mouth is dry, and Cyrus is looking straight at him.

He has to protect Emily.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” he asks, and the stammer in his voice isn’t entirely faked. Emily tenses behind him. _Stay where you are_ , he thinks desperately. _We can talk our way out of this._

“God will forgive me for what I must do,” Cyrus says softly, without breaking eye contact with him, and the only warning Reid has of what’s about to happen is the sudden clatter of wings.

The eagle smashes into Aureilo with bone-breaking force, lifting the hare off his feet and skidding along the floor with his talons hooked cruelly into soft fur. Reid screams at the same time Aureilo does, the high-pitched wail of a hunted leporid chilling him even as the pain from his dæmon’s injuries brings him to his knees.

“Who is it?” Cyrus calls out over their cries, as Reid’s scream fades to a choked moan of pain, the eagle dropping a hooked beak down to rest against the carotid artery in the hare’s tensed throat. Reid tries to talk but his world has narrowed to Aureilo frozen in the punishing grasp of the eagle, eyes wide and heart galloping.

“Me,” Emily says suddenly, and Reid can’t tell her not to because he’s being crushed through his dæmon, he can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe_. “Me, it’s me. I’m the FBI agent.”

_Emily,_ Reid whimpers soundlessly as they lead her away, Sergio held tightly in the jaws of a Labrador dæmon.

 

 

They listen to the sound of Cyrus beating Emily, Sergio’s furious yowls echoing through the earphones, and Hotch somehow keeps calm. Rossi’s face is blank as he listens, but Eris takes to the air and screams; a violent shriek that sends every small dæmon in the area scurrying for their humans.

“That could have been Spencer,” Hal points out after, ears flat to her skull.

Hotch thinks of Reid and how, even in horrifying circumstances, they at least know Emily is alive. They have nothing of Reid, not even a single soundbite.

“It still could be,” he says, voice cold.

 

 

They don’t let him near Aureilo, the hare a shuddering frightened mass of fur by the watchful claws of the eagle, and Reid can’t think for the terror of those talons so close to his heart.

Suddenly, Cyrus is dead and the eagle is gone, and Reid staggers up to reach his hare, almost falling into Morgan’s arms. “You all right kid?” Morgan shouts, skin shiny with sweat.

“Aureilo,” Reid gasps, his dæmon still shocked and still, fur glittering. He’s shivering himself, and he recognises the signs of shock even as his brain tries to slow and conserve energy. “Wait, Emily? Where’s Emily?”

Morgan doesn’t answer, he’s looking past them, and when Reid turns Jessica is holding the detonator with her dæmon a rapidly shifting form near her legs. “Run!” screams Morgan, dragging him with him, and Reid barely has a chance to register Naemaria grabbing Aureilo in gentle jaws before the building explodes behind them.

 

 

The building explodes and Hotch’s feet barely touch the ground in his haste to sprint towards it. Rossi beats him there, and he almost crumples in relief to see Reid and Morgan standing near Emily, looking shell-shocked but alive. He doesn’t even think when he reaches them, pushing past the panting Rossi and dragging Reid into his arms, feeling the convulsive trembling shaking the thin man’s body, breathing in the scent of his hair and his sweat and trying not bury his mouth into that scent and completely lose his composure. Reid crumples with a choked moan, hands fisted in the front of Hotch’s shirt and eyes closed.

There’s a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and he turns his head to see Morgan and Rossi stepping closer together to shield them from the view of the SWAT team milling about, faces inscrutable.

“You’re bleeding!” cries Hal. Hotch releases Reid and turns quickly to look down at the long, oozing furrows along the hare’s back and sides.

“Disagreement with a bird,” Aureilo says, his usually confident voice wrecked. When Eris flaps down from Rossi’s shoulder to peer at the gashes, he flinches away involuntarily. “You should see how he fared.”

Eris makes a furious noise. “If he’s not dead, he will be,” she hisses, eyes dark, before ducking her beak down to run it gently along the hare’s matted fur. “I don’t take kindly to having my rabbit messed with.”

Reid laughs suddenly, a slightly maniacal tone edging his voice. “Aw, I didn’t know you cared, Dave.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Rossi replies sardonically. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

 

 

Emily’s face is a livid mass of bruising, and Reid can’t hold back the sharp hiss at the sight of it. She sits in front of him, expression intent. “What Cyrus did to me was not your fault. Do you hear me?”

Sergio jumps up on the table between them, green eyes locked on Reid’s face. “It was our decision and we would do it again,” he adds, tail lashing furiously.

“You should have let me take it,” Reid mutters stubbornly. Aureilo is no help to him in this verbal chess match, sprawled up the other end of the jet with Kailo and Naemaria worrying over his injuries, preening under the attention.

Emily laughs. “Not on your life. We’ve grieved for you once,” she says, biting at her lip and twitching slightly as though consciously trying not to glance over at Hotch. “I’m not doing that again, none of us are.”

When she leaves, Reid turns thoughtful eyes onto Hotch, watching the man making notes on a file.

Reid owes him everything.

 

 

Strauss gives them a week off after the Cyrus incident, and Haley offers him the week with Jack. He can’t pass up the chance to spend the time with his son, but the idea of leaving Spencer alone for a week is anathema to him. Packing his last bag, he pauses over it and shakes off the persistent unease. A soft scuff of a shoe on carpet brings him back to himself. Spencer is hovering in the doorway, biting at his nails anxiously as though holding something back.

“We’ll be back in a week,” Hotch teases him, pushing away the lingering anxiety. “I’m sure you can manage without us.”

Spencer nods, hair flopping into his eyes, and tosses his head back like a nervous stallion. Hotch fights back the desire to smooth the hair back and take him into his arms, the return of Spencer’s longer hair a mixed blessing. He’s finding it harder and harder to concentrate when Spencer’s hair is long and the man can duck behind it like a shield.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Spencer says suddenly, and it’s so unexpected that Hotch doesn’t register what he’s asking for a moment. “I mean, us. Me and Aureilo. Do you want us with you and… Jack?”

Hotch doesn’t hold back this time, instead reaching up and pulling him into his arms and letting their lips meet hungrily, his grip tight.

“Yes,” he murmurs into Spencer’s mouth when they pause for breath, heart hammering with emotion. “Oh god, yes.”


	10. In that church, there lived a mouse…

“Are you sure you’ve packed everything?” Hotch asks wryly.

Spencer pauses and looks worried for a moment. “I… I think so,” he mutters, ticking off his fingers as though listing items in his head. “Did I pack my books on tapes for the drive?”

Hotch exchanges a quick glance with Hal, who he’d instructed to remove the tapes from Spencer’s bag every time they made it in there. She winks at him from her usual sprawled position on the back seat. “Yeah, you packed them,” he says non-committedly, turning his head so Spencer can’t profile the lie in his smirk. He’ll be damned if he’s driving for five hours with _The Magic of Physics_ droning into his ear.

Spencer buckles his seatbelt and takes a deep breath. “Okay. We can go then. I’m ready.”

“Are you?” Aureilo asks sarcastically from the centre console. “We would have never been able to tell.”

Spencer nods, eyes distant, missing the hare’s dry tone. “Yeah. Ready.”

He looks terrified.

 

 

“Haley, this is Spencer. Doctor Spencer Reid. He’s a friend.”

Haley narrows her eyes and glances from Aaron to Reid, who tries to look calm and composed. The kind of person you’d let take your child away on holiday. “Hi!” he chirps, holding up his hand in a half wave, before dropping it and shuffling his feet slightly. “I’m Spencer but… he just said that. So, you already know.”

“Shut up,” Aureilo mutters from his feet. “Shut up now, shut up fast.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Dr. Reid,” Haley says, smiling awkwardly and turning back to Aaron. “Do you know how to work the car seat?”

Aaron frowns. “Of course I know how to fit a car seat…” His voice trails away as he follows her to the car, leaving Reid and Aureilo standing on the drive.

“She hates me,” Reid groans. “I make the worst first impressions, what was Aaron _thinking_ introducing me to her?”

Aureilo stands on his hind legs and gazes after the two quietly bickering parents. “Is it just me, or does she look a lot like Kate?” he comments, holding his ears up to listen to the conversation. “Aaron sure has a type.”

Reid blinks and looks at Haley, noting her long blonde hair and petite features. “Oh,” he says quietly, heart sinking.

 

 

Things go well, right up until Jack discovers that he can throw his cup at the back of Spencer’s head with terrifying accuracy, causing the man to make wonderfully entertaining noises.

“I’m just saying, if you had a favourite, which would it— _ack_!” Spencer’s head tips forward again for the fifth time, the cup rebounding with a hollow clunk and landing on the floor, much to Jack’s delight. Hotch flicks a glance at them as Spencer swallows hard, picks the cup up, and doggedly returns it to the boy’s waiting hands.

“Don’t give him the cup back, Spencer,” Hotch tells him. “He’s just going to throw it again.”

Spencer shoots him a pleading look. “But he wants it,” he says, voice desperate.

Hal makes a soft groaning noise from where she’s awkwardly curled up against the car seat. “This is going to be a long week,” she grumbles, puppy-Arelys gnawing happily at her tail.

 

 

Hotch is in the service station for only minutes before his cell starts buzzing. Humming over the various chocolate bars to find one that his son and his partner can both bond over, he drops his hand and pulls it up to check it, finding five messages.

**Reid – Jack’s crying**

**Reid – I tried to pull faces at him and he cried harder**

**Reid – do I pick him up?**

**Reid – I tried to pick him up and he threw his cup again.**

**Reid – Can you bring napkins?**

“It’s going to be a long week,” he says quietly to Hal, who rolls her eyes in response.

The automatic door grates open, letting in an irritated Aureilo trailing puddles of juice. “We’re not okay,” he states glumly, licking at his paws.

 

 

“He’s finally asleep,” Hal says, relief plain in her voice, right as Jack lets out a loud giggle.

“He doesn’t sound asleep,” Hotch replies.

“I wasn’t talking about Jack,” Hal says, her voice soft with an emotion Hotch hadn’t recognised until this moment. He glances to the side to see Spencer with his head lolling against the window, mouth open and cheek pressed against the glass. There’s a stray mass of curls sticking to his neck from where Jack’s juice had drenched him and his shirt is a mess of splotches and hastily dabbed dry patches. Aureilo doesn’t look much better, snoring with his head drooped over the side of the seat and fur matted and sticky.

Hotch realizes in that moment that he is very probably hopelessly in love with this man.

 

 

Every time Spencer goes too near Hotch or Hotch moves towards him, Jack screams. Hotch firmly tells Spencer to ignore it, that he’ll stop it eventually, but Spencer retreats from him with a miserable expression and curls up in the armchair looking morose. Aureilo hops curiously into the kitchen as Hotch is wrestling porridge into Jack’s mouth, and Arelys in some sort of shaggy puppy form growls and snaps at the hare’s ear. Hearing Spencer’s startled yelp from the living room as the sharp puppy teeth pinch delicate skin, Hotch flinches. Hal leaps to her feet, cuffing Arelys firmly with a large paw and toppling the pup onto her side. Aureilo scampers, and Hotch hears the sound of the flap on the backdoor of the cabin rattling open at high speed as he bolts into the forest for safety. Jack starts howling the same time Arelys shifts into a cowed looking kitten, fur fluffed up and mewling miserably.

“This is a disaster,” Hotch groans, as Jack flips the bowl into his lap and continues screaming.

 

 

It becomes apparent very quickly that he can’t leave Spencer alone for even a minute with the increasingly boisterous Jack.

“He’s insane,” Spencer yelps, holding Jack up awkwardly by the armpits before he can hurtle towards the corner of the coffee table and belt his head against the wood. “If there’s something that will hurt him, he makes a beeline for—ow!”

Hotch scoops Jack out of his hands as Arelys makes her feelings clear by swiping sharp claws at Spencer’s ankle. “Naptime,” he says determinedly, throwing Jack over his shoulder and walking him to his cot, leaving Spencer in peace. Arelys follows, changing again into a puppy and attempting to copy Hal’s long stride. “Be nice to Spencer,” Hotch pleads as he changes his son, staring straight down into Jack’s grinning face and trying to communicate his desperation. “He’s doing his best.”

Jack just grabs at his toes and babbles to himself, Arelys wagging her tail happily by his side.

 

 

Reid waits until Aaron is back from putting Jack to bed before launching his attack, curled up on the bed with his hair still damp from his shower and Aureilo wrapped up in a towel in his lap. “He hates me,” he announces as soon as Aaron walks in, exhausted. “This was a mistake; he absolutely hates me. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hal snaps, as Aaron stills. “He’s a baby. He just doesn’t know you.”

“Pretty sure I don’t have long enough ears to get to know the kid,” Aureilo grouses from inside the towel. “Eris is going to start calling me ol’ one ear if she takes one more bite out of me.”

“Give him time?” Aaron asks, and, unlike Jack, Reid is capable of reading the anxiety in every line of his body.

“Okay,” Reid says softly, laying down in the bed and closing his eyes. Aaron slides in next to him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close. They lay like that for a few minutes before Aaron sidles closer, running his lips gently over the back of Reid’s neck. Reid shivers, letting himself relax into the gentle touch, and considers rolling over and wrapping himself around his lover and showing him exactly what an IQ of one-eight-seven can be used for in bed.

There’s a loud shriek from the next room and Aaron stiffens. “I won’t be long,” he says, voice strained. Reid just smiles wanly and, when Aaron returns, he keeps his eyes closed and breathing steady. He can’t stand to see the disappointment in Aaron’s eyes at his failure.

 

 

“Og,” Jack announces, pointing at the slimy creature sitting cheerfully next to the pond. “Og.” Arelys flickers into the frog form for a moment, croaking uncertainty before switching back to a puppy, a short-coated terrier this time, and running after Hal.

“Toad,” Spencer corrects automatically, barely glancing up from his book. “ _Anaxyrus americanus._ ”

Hotch holds his breath as Jack stops and turns his head to watch Spencer carefully, considering. “Toe,” he says finally, nodding firmly.

“That’s right, toad,” Spencer confirms, turning the page and continuing reading.

Hotch lets out his breath slowly, smiling.

 

 

“Ook,” Jack announces that night, holding up a battered storybook and toddling awkwardly around the living room in the freshly cleared space. “Ook.” Hotch reaches out for the book as Jack staggers past, but the boy dodges his hand easily and keeps going. “Ook!” he shouts, dropping the book into Spencer’s lap and falling back heavily onto his butt. Spencer freezes, one hand on the book, eyeing Jack like he would a dangerous animal before looking up at Hotch nervously for guidance.

“You heard the man,” Hotch says. “Book.”

Spencer swallows, nods, and lets the well-loved book fall open into his long hands. “In a busy little town, not very far away, there is a church, and in that church there lived a mouse whose name was Arthur,” he begins, voice softening and tone lilting as he reads the words. Hotch watches, entranced, as Spencer’s entire demeanour changes, as though he’s reliving a beloved memory. “Arthur loved living in the church…”

 

 

“Toe!” screams Jack, hurtling into the mud puddle.

Hotch stares in shock at the three liberally mud-covered figures by the pond, two small and unsteady, one tall and sheepish. Spencer looks up and grins when he sees Hotch, wiping a hand across his face and only managing to smear the copious amounts of mud. “Hi, Aaron,” he says guiltily. “Jack wanted to play toads.”

“They’re being children,” Aureilo protests, standing well back from where a stray splash could drench him, fastidious as always about his fur.

“They’re being _wonderful,”_ says Hal, beaming, and Hotch couldn’t have said it better himself.

 

 

Jack is asleep, freshly cleaned of grime, and Spencer is peeling mud-coated clothes from his body as Hotch wanders into the bathroom with the storybook held in one hand. “Spencer,” he asks softly, turning the book over to read the back. “Where did this book come from?”

Reid stills, shirtless and grimy, flushing red even under the dirt. “I guess Haley must have packed it.” He turns away from Hotch and slides his pants off slim hips, folding them carefully and placing them in the hamper with the rest of his soiled clothes.

Hotch waits until he’s turned away before opening the book and reading the childish scrawl in the title page, biting his lip to hold back a soft noise. Moving back into the bedroom, he hears the shower turning on as he places the book down and reads the careful cursive underneath the untidy name one more time.

**_This book is Spencer William Reid’s property_ **

_Dear Spencer,_

_When you feel lonely, read this and remember, you’re not the only mouse in the church. Every Arthur has his Sampson._

_With love, from the staff at the West Las Vegas Public Library_

There’s an odd prickle in his throat as he closes the book and pushes the bathroom door open, steam billowing around him and Spencer’s form barely visible through the foggy glass of the shower stall. “Room for one more?” he asks, sliding his shirt off.

 

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Reid asks, when he finishes towelling himself dry and looks up to see Aaron regarding him with an inscrutable expression.

Aaron twitches and blinks a few times, looking oddly caught out. “No reason,” he says softly, and his voice is low and husky.

Hal lays her head against Aureilo’s side and sighs, breathing in the scent of his fur.

 

 

Hotch wakes up suddenly with the sense that something is wrong.

“Aaron,” Hal says sharply, and, for a second, Hotch is sure something has happened to Jack. When he looks down at his dæmon, she’s raised up on her front legs with Aureilo in his usual spot between them, but the hare is rigid with the white of his eyes showing and nostrils flaring. “What’s happening to him!?”

He stares at the hare in horror for a second before turning to his partner. Spencer is silent, seemingly asleep, but when Hotch leans over to peer into his face, there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. “Spencer?” Hotch calls softly, touching his arm gently with one hand. Spencer jerks at his touch, eyes bolting open, wide and unheeding. He stares at the shocked Hotch for a couple of seconds, before jolting away and screaming with heart-breaking terror.

“Hey!” Hotch shouts, grabbing the other man before his flailing can smash his head into the side table and pulling him down, using his greater strength to pin him to the bed. “Spencer! It’s me, it’s Aaron, snap out of it!”

Spencer shakes his head, eyes glazed. “No, get them off, get them off, Aaron please, get them off me,” he mutters feverishly, looking straight past him at nothing.

“Nightmare?” Hal asks, lowering her muzzle to nuzzle at the quivering Aureilo.

“Night terror,” Hotch corrects, holding Spencer close as the man collapses into his arms, shaking and inconsolable, the sound of Jack crying cutting through the still air. “It’s over now, it’s over. Shh. You’re fine, you’re safe.”

 

 

“It’s not fine,” Reid snaps, irritation buzzing in his skull and making him harsh. “I woke up Jack, and you, like a _child_.” What’s worse; he doesn’t even remember what was in the dream, just the vague memory of a basement and the sensation of cold.

“You can’t help a night terror,” Aaron says with frustrating calm, testing the temperature of Jack’s bottle on his wrist.

“It wasn’t a night terror!” Reid snarls, fear twisting his guts into a tight knot. “It was a nightmare, and it _can’t_ happen again.”

“Reid, there’s nothing wrong with…” Aaron begins, looking at him and frowning, a line of concern appearing on his brow.

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Reid glares at him, before shoving the bowl of soggy cereal away and storming out. Lines from his textbooks float through his head. _In adults who suffer from night terrors there is a close association with psychopathology or mental disorders._

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Reid says to the mirror in the bathroom, dark-ringed eyes and pale face declaring him a liar.

 

 

Hotch goes to bed that night, exhausted after a day with a sleep-deprived child and a dæmon that has finally, unfortunately, discovered winged forms, and the room is empty. Hissing with irritation, he pads out barefoot into the living room and finds Spencer curled up in front of the empty fireplace, book in his hands and clearly settled in for the night. “What are you doing?” he asks, already dreading the answer.

“I’m further from Jack’s room in here,” Spencer replies absently. “In case I have a _nightmare_.”

“I’m not letting you sleep alone, on the floor.”

Spencer doesn’t even look at him. “I’m not alone. Aureilo is here.”

When Hal tilts her head at the hare and whines curiously, for the first time the hare turns away and ignores her.

 

 

Hotch can’t sleep. The bed is too empty, it’s too cold, and there’s too much air in the room. Angrily, he tears the covers off and storms as quietly as possible into the living room, letting his ire show clearly on his face. Hal watches him go, clearly deciding to stay well out of this one.

“Alright, enough,” he whispers furiously, closing the living room door behind him and facing the exhausted looking profiler. “Tell me what’s really going on.”

“I already told you,” Spencer murmurs. Even as he’s talking, Hotch can see his eyes struggling to stay open.

“If it was just a nightmare, why are you so afraid to go to sleep?” Hotch asks carefully, stepping forward and lowering himself onto the ground in front of his partner, holding one hand under the man’s chin and lifting it to meet his eyes. Spencer licks his lip, and, even in the seriousness of the moment, something in Hotch perks up with interest at the fast flicker of pink tongue.

It’s Aureilo who answers, head nodding sleepily. “We’re scared.”

“Of what?” Hotch questions, shuffling over and pressing against Spencer’s side, letting his head tuck onto his shoulder.

“Of our mind,” Spencer mumbles into his shoulder. “I don’t want to be my mother. I don’t want to do that to Jack… or you.”

Hotch is silent, mind mulling over the quiet admittance. “I’m never going to walk out on you, no matter what,” he says finally, honestly.

A huff of air against his neck. “That’s what we’re afraid of.”

 

 

Jack cries once on their last night, and, when Aaron goes to stand and see to him, Reid stops him with a hand on his hip. “I’ll go,” he says with a smile he doesn’t feel. “It’s probably about my turn, anyway.”

Aaron looks nervous. “Alright,” he says finally, with a nod. “If he’s cranky, you might need to talk to him a bit to get him to settle.”

Reid wonders for a moment if he’s doing the right thing, before picking up the storybook off the bedside cupboard and walking out the room.

 

 

An hour later Hotch bolts awake and realizes he’s still alone in the bed and the house is silent. Pacing down the hall, he opens the door of the nursery with trepidation, freezing when he sees what’s on the other side.

Spencer is curled in the armchair with his head tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut and sleeping more peacefully than he has in days, face finally clear of the stress that’s been eating at it. Jack is in his arms, curled up asleep with one chubby hand fisted through Spencer’s shirt, ear pressed against his chest so he can hear his heartbeat. At their feet, the book lies open where it had fallen.

“Is everything okay?” Hal calls quietly, stepping out of the bedroom.

Hotch has to talk past a lump that has suddenly filled his throat, and he knows his voice sounds odd. “Yes, just… this week was far too short.”


	11. You’re the worst part of my son.

JJ is standing by his desk looking nervous.

“We’ll be fine without you, JJ,” Reid tells her firmly, her butterfly dæmon flicking his wings uncertainty from his perch on her pocket. “You and Kailo deserve a break.”

“Not going to be much of a break,” she says heavily, folding her hands over her large stomach. “Not with this one on the way.” She hesitates for a second and opens her mouth to say something.

“Reid!” Hotch calls from the stairs. “Conference room, now. We’ve got a case.”

Reid grins, scooping up his bag. “Well, duty calls. Good luck JJ. You’re going to be a brilliant mom.”

She laughs. “Try not to get kidnapped or shot while I’m gone, okay, Spence?”

 

 

The nights that Spencer spends at home, Hotch’s bed feels empty and cold. He knows that, even after a year and a half together, they need their own space, but that doesn’t stop the missing him. But, the nights that Spencer is there, Hotch spends drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for the moment that his partner will jerk awake from endless nightmares with his eyes wide and face shiny with sweat.

“Did we do this?” Hal asks one day as Hotch quietly pads to the kitchen to get some water. “He wasn’t having nightmares until he stayed with Jack. Is this our fault?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hotch tells her firmly, but, if she’s voiced it, he’s thought it.

 

 

Morgan’s voice floats through Reid’s head as he drifts off in the Vegas hotel room, waiting for the loose ends of the case to be wrapped up so they can go home. _“What the hell is scaring you?”_

Exhaustion claims him quickly and before he knows it, he’s standing in the basement again with Aureilo by his heels. It’s different this time. Everything is bigger and Aureilo cowers in front of him, half grown and lanky. He turns wide eyes on Reid and folds his ears back. “Spencer, pay attention,” he instructs him.

There’s a flicker of movement, and a man appears out of the shadows, bending over a still form in the corner by the rusted dryer. “Show your face!” Reid calls, stepping forward.

There’s a whir of movement and, suddenly, he’s facing snarling teeth, a bristle-backed coyote snapping his jaws shut inches from his face. The man turns and looks at him, revealing the child’s body on the floor behind him, and Reid gasps.

“Dad?”

 

 

“I’m going to stay for a few days.” Reid looks determined, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “I haven’t seen my mom for a while. I think she’d like it if I hung around.”

Hotch considers him carefully. There’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye he can tell, but confronting Reid when he’s put his mind to being quiet about it isn’t going to be easy. “Are you sure?” he asks finally.

Reid nods. “I need this, Aaron,” he murmurs. It’s the use of his first name that decides it. Reid wouldn’t do that at work, unless he was desperate.

“Take a few days,” he tells him, and Reid touches his hand gently and walks away. Hotch can barely hold back the desire to chase after him, suddenly terrified by the idea of letting him face whatever is scaring him so badly alone.

Someone moves up behind him, and he turns his head to see Morgan and Rossi looming close. “How many personal days have I got saved up, Hotch?” Morgan asks innocently.

“Yeah, I need to earn back what I lost playing Prentiss on the tables last night,” Rossi says with a wink, Eris ruffling her feathers. “That woman has a terrifying poker face.”

Hotch almost smiles. Almost. It’s good to know the team has his back.

 

 

Reid opens the door to his hotel and blinks. “What are you guys doing here?”

Morgan shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth, tossing a kernel into Naemaria’s waiting jaws. “What’s it look like we’re doing?”

Aureilo hops into the room and stands on his hind legs, looking at the TV. “Breaking into our hotel room and watching Days of our Lives?”

“It’s Young and the Restless,” Eris corrects him, before looking away when Rossi glances at her oddly.

“You’re supposed to be on a plane back to DC,” Reid complains, dropping the box of files onto his bed.

“And you’re supposed to be staying with your mom. Yet here we all are,” Rossi replies. He snatches a file out of the box before Reid can stop him.

“I want to do this alone,” Reid tells him, trying and failing to grab the file back. Behind him, Eris grabs another file and drops it in Morgan’s lap before pulling one out for herself and turning the page carefully with a light talon. “Did Hotch send you?”

“No one sent us, man,” Morgan says, eyes skimming over the folder. “Riley Jenkins? Come on Reid, let us in. We can help you.”

“You have a suspect,” Rossi hums, profiling gaze firmly aimed at Reid.

He’s not going to win this one.

“I think… I think it was my father.”

 

 

“Do you want to get a drink?” Prentiss looks awkward in the doorway of his office, as though she’s not quite sure what she’s asking.

“A… drink?” Hotch stares at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. You know. A drink. They serve them in glasses. They’re… wet?”

Hotch puts his pen down carefully and folds his hands together, putting on his best ‘team leader’ face. “Agent Prentiss. Do you need to talk to me about something that’s bothering you?”

Emily laughs. “Oh god, no. No, I just thought you know, with Reid in Vegas and Rossi and Morgan helping him, you might be feeling…”

“Feeling?”

An unfamiliar male voice answers from Hotch’s feet: “Lonely.”

Hotch looks down and finds himself staring straight into Sergio’s green eyes. “Why would I be feeling lonely without Rossi, Reid and Morgan?”

Emily mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘worst kept secret in the agency,’ before shaking her head. “Never mind, I just thought I’d offer. I’m taking Todd anyway, try to loosen her up a little before we throw her to the sharks. And by sharks, I mean Reid in the morning before he’s injected his caffeine.”

Hotch waits until her footsteps are fading before jumping to his feet and following her as quickly as his dignity allows, grabbing his coat on the way. “Prentiss! Wait. I’ll, err... I’ll come.”

 

 

His dad walks out, and he looks just like Reid remembers him. Reid freezes and, for once, Aureilo doesn’t save him.

Rossi does. “Mr. Reid? I’m Agent Rossi. This is Agent Morgan.”

A flicker of an old fear passes over his father’s face. “Has something happened to Spencer?”

Reid opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Harback takes that moment to turn his head, nose twitching. His yellow eyes widen, and he nudges his human. Aureilo twitches as the coyote’s regard falls onto him. “Hey, Dad,” Reid says, as William looks at him.

The elder Reid pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Perhaps we should take this into my office.”

 

 

“You think I killed Riley Jenkins? Based on a dream?” William keeps his calm.

“You don’t seem all that surprised,” Rossi states, watching the man carefully. Eris is perfectly still, perched on the back of a chair with her orange eyes observing everything.

“Spencer’s mind stopped surprising me years ago,” William says, but there’s no pride in his voice. Suddenly, he turns and looks at Reid. “You don’t look much like me anymore. You used to, people would say.”

Reid goes cold. There’d always been something about his dad that had the ability to send his mind grinding to a halt, leaving him speechless and uncomfortable.

“They say that people look like their dogs too,” Aureilo snaps, claws biting into the carpet as he stands. “Prolonged exposure. But since you walked out on us and never looked back, it makes sense that we wouldn’t have that now, doesn’t it?”

Harback bristles and snaps, sharp teeth clipping Aureilo’s fur. The hare barely reacts, both of them vividly aware of the coyote’s short temper. William doesn’t take notice of his dæmon, Morgan and Rossi both frozen with shock at the harsh movement. “Still talking out of turn?” he says to the hare. “You always were the worst part of my son. There’s something wrong with you.”

Reid jerks in place. “There’s nothing wrong with him!” he yelps, at the same time Eris lets out a furious, barking call, her feathers ruffling up threateningly as she bares open her beak at the coyote.

Rossi moves forward, face calm but mouth set in a tight line. “We’ll need to have a look at your computer, access your records.”

William narrows his eyes. “You want access to my records? Get a warrant.”

 

 

Reid’s not answering his phone. So, he does the next best thing.

“Rossi,” the man answers, and Hotch detects a faint note of something dark in his voice. “What’s up, Hotch?”

“Reid isn’t answering his phone. How are things going?”

There’s a deep breath. “Reid has… a lot of anger built up. And he’s determined to pin this on his father. He’s got blinders on.”

Hotch had thought as much. “Do you think his father did it?”

A grunt. “No. And Reid will see that as well, once he stops to think. He’s just… he really, really hates his dad.”

“And?” Hotch can hear something left unsaid between them.

“I honestly don’t blame him. I kind of want to smack the man myself. If we don’t solve this soon, I might.”

 

 

The ride back is silent.

“Hey,” Reid says eventually, turning his head to look at Rossi. Morgan is asleep next to him, earphones on. “I want to say… thank you. For your help, back there. I guess I lost my head. I wasn’t objective.”

Rossi shrugs. “It happens, kid. We all lose it sometimes. That’s why we work as a team, so we can keep each other on track.”

Reid grins. “Well, thanks again. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Rossi nods and lets the conversation lapse for a moment, before speaking again in a low voice. “Hey, Reid?”

“Yeah?”

“What your dad said back there? It’s not true. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Eris pipes up from her perch behind Rossi’s head. “Either of you.”

 

 

“Spencer. How are you?”

“Tired. We’re on our way home. I… Aureilo misses you. And Hal.”

“You may have to postpone his reunion. You’re needed elsewhere.”

“Oh?”

“JJ’s having her baby.”

 

 

It’s a weird feeling to be walking into a hospital to celebrate life, instead of waiting to hear if someone they love has lost theirs.

“Congratulations, JJ,” Hotch tells his media liaison proudly as she beams up at them with her son in her arms. “He’s beautiful.”

Spencer stumbles in, still ruffled from the plane ride, and Hotch wishes he could call out his name in the same excited voice that JJ does. “Spence! Hi!” He watches his partner admire the baby, talking to JJ softly. JJ suddenly swallows hard and reaches a hand out to touch Spencer’s. “Hey Spence… Will and I have been talking and we want to… well, would you be Henry’s godfather?”

Spencer freezes, Aureilo at his feet, both looking like they’ve been caught in headlights. “I don’t… um, I don’t know. I don’t know,” he stutters, his words gone. Hotch almost laughs at the shocked, strangely identical expressions on the two faces, holding it back just in time. JJ passes Henry to Spencer, who looks down at him with an awestruck expression that he’s never looked at Jack with, and, for a second, Hotch suspects that the strange kick in his stomach might be jealously. “Hi, Henry,” Spencer murmurs to the baby, curling a finger through his tiny hand and crouching so Aureilo can sniff at his hair curiously.

The kick turns to a warm glow, and Hotch quietly promises himself that he’ll see Spencer look like that again one day. The same way Hotch had looked the first time Jack had been handed to him, still wet and gasping.

They have their whole lives to make it happen.

 

 

“Have you noticed?” Spencer asks him one day, putting down the scientific journal he’s reading. Peering over the top of his glasses at Jack chasing after Arelys who’s in turn chasing Aureilo, he smiles. “When Jack is here with you, Arelys is always a canine.”

Hotch pauses with his cup of coffee held halfway to his mouth. “No? Is she?”

Aureilo waits until boxer puppy Arelys is almost on him, before rocketing across the room and through Hal’s legs to safety. “Looks like someone wants to be just like Dad,” Reid teases, going back to his journal.

Hotch spends the rest of the day grinning stupidly.

 

 

He’s screwed up.

He’s screwed up again, and somehow this time it’s worse because he has so much more to lose now.

“Spencer,” Aureilo says suddenly, turning slowly in front of him to stare at the broken canisters of powder scattered on the floor of the shed. “Oh god, Spencer, stop Morgan, _stop Morgan._ ”

Reid turns and slams the button to seal the door, almost closing Naemaria’s nose in it. “Reid, what the hell, man?” Morgan exclaims, coming up behind her looking confused and pissed off. Reid quietly memorizes that expression, right before he tears it down.

“Stay back, Morgan,” he says, and Morgan goes pale as he registers the fear in his voice. “There’s white powder in the room and the air con is blasting.”

“No,” Morgan snaps. “No, no, no, not again. Not you, not again. Reid, why the hell did you run ahead?” His voice cracks, breaks, and Naemaria is staring through the glass at Aureilo as though the hare can somehow make this all better. “Reid, no…”

Reid swallows hard. “Morgan, you… you have to call Hotch.”

 

 

“Hotchner.”

Morgan makes a strange noise through the phone. Hotch closes his eyes, because he’s heard that noise before and it’s usually followed by, ‘Reid’s done something stupid.’

“Reid’s been exposed.”

 

 

“Reid,” Aaron says in his best ‘I am a leader’ voice. It’s incredibly comforting to look up at his boss through the glass of the door and see him calm and collected and, most of all, safe.

“Hotch, I really messed up this time,” Reid tells him, biting at his lip, seeing the faintest lines of stress collecting in the corner of Aaron’s eyes. He wonders how many of those lines he’s caused.

“It was my fault,” Aureilo pipes up. “I ran ahead, not Spencer. He just followed me in.”

“We need to get you both out and to the hospital,” Aaron says, professional mask in place.

Reid shakes his head slowly. Aaron isn’t the only one who needs to stay professional. “No. I’m already exposed, it’s not going to do me any good to stop working the case.”

Aaron’s doesn’t react, but Hal makes a noise like her heart is breaking. “You could die.”

Reid looks away from them right as Aureilo coughs.

 

 

“Where are you going?” Morgan is glaring after him.

“To find out who’s responsible for this before Re… before he can strike again.” Hotch doesn’t let any emotion show on his face. He’s not entirely sure he’s feeling any emotion at the moment, other than a slight uneasiness as though he’s taken a step in the dark and found that the ground under him falls away sharply.

“You gotta be here, Hotch. With Reid, in case things get worse.”

“He took Cipro, we all did. He’ll be fine.”

Morgan catches his arm and stares him in the eyes, face grim. “He might not be. Can you live with yourself if you walk away right now and he’s not here when you come back?”

Hotch shakes his arm free and walks away.

_He will be._

 

 

His fingers shake on his cell, and he can’t look at Aureilo without seeing the rapid rise and fall of his sides as his breathing rate increases, smaller lungs succumbing twice as fast to the pathogens. If he looks at that, then he’s going to start thinking about the prickle of heat on his face, and the tickle in the back of his throat, and how he’s pretty sure that if he tries to talk, he’s going to lose control of his words. _Aphasia. Some of the patients showed signs of it right before they died._

A small irrational side of his mind wants him to stay silent so the aphasia can’t possibly take his language from him, but he has to do this.

“Hey, Reid.” Garcia’s voice is on the knife’s edge of bawling, and he feels tears beginning to threaten at his own eyes.

“No witty greeting for me?” he tries to joke, his voice catching. He holds back a cough with effort, determined to see this through. “Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?”

“Anything,” she replies instantly. Now, he knows she’s crying.

“I, uh, I know I can't call my mom without alerting everyone at her hospital. I… I need you to record a message for her. And for Hot—for Aaron. Please. In case anything happens to me.”

Garcia is silent for a moment. “Oh honey, nothing’s going to happen to you. We’re going to beat this. You’re going to be brilliant as always, and we’re going to beat this.”

Reid begins to cough and it feels like his chest is being torn apart with every shake of his body. “I need… I need them to hear my voice,” he says when the coughing is done. There’s a whimper in his voice, but he can’t hold it back. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to lose his words and his life, and he can’t bear the idea of Aureilo just not… existing anymore.

“When you’re ready,” Garcia says softly after a long, pained silence.

 

 

“Hi, Mom. This is Spencer. I just, um, I just really want you to know that I love you. And—I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

 

 

“Hotch? Derek called.”

“Yeah?”

“Reid’s in trouble. He… he got sicker on the way to the hospital. He’s in respiratory distress.”

 

 

“Hey, Aaron. I know you’re probably really mad at me for getting into this situation, for always getting into these situations, but I need you to know that no matter what happens this isn’t your fault. And… and I need you to know that I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I just hope that’s still an option.”

 

 

“Hotch, don’t you think you should be going to the hospital?”

Hotch ignores Rossi, strapping his vest on and eyeing the opening to the subway. Down there waits the man responsible for this. “No. My place is here.” At his side, Hal is a silent, dark form. The sight is oddly reminiscent of a time before Reid. A time when Hotch had been by himself and been fine with that. When the wolfdog had slept alone without a lanky, brown shape by her side. “Nothing that’s happening at the hospital will be changed by my presence.”

A time that could have returned without either of them being ready to say goodbye. Rossi doesn’t say what he’s thinking, but Hotch can see it mirrored clearly in Emily’s face.

They move together as a team, and the empty spaces between them hold all the air in the room.

 

 

Chad Brown falls for their bluff and puts the bag down, turning to them with a gleeful expression and his fox dæmon slinking around his legs. When Hotch sees that wide grin, suddenly it hits him.

_Reid is dying because of you._

“You understand why I had to show everybody how vulnerable we are!” the man crows, and he takes a single step towards Hotch with the bag on the ground behind him.

_I might lose him because of you._

There’s a roar beside him and Hal lunges, smashing into the fox with all of her considerable size, mouth gaping and eyes wild. Hotch does nothing as she grips the fox with crushing jaws and slams him into the ground, snarling as though she’s trying to transfer her own agony into the man responsible.

_He could already be dead because of you._

Hotch does nothing but watches.

“Whoa! Call her off, call her off!” someone is shouting, but Hotch ignores them, their voices muted and distant through the rushing blood in his ears, as though it’s his own fangs sinking into the dæmon, the man screaming and crumpling to the ground.

_He’s probably already dead because of you._

_Oh god, he’s dead._

Pain slams into him as a blow to the head and he cries out as Eris rakes her talons across the back of Hal’s skull and shrieks. Hal drops the fox and staggers away, turning in a dark blur of rarely released fury and snapping her jaws shut on an outstretched wing. Rossi yells with his owl as Hal drops Eris into a crumpled feathered form on the cement and leaps back, eyes wide with horror at what she’d done.

“He killed Reid!” screams Hotch, turning on Rossi with hate in his heart “Spencer’s dying because of him! He deserves to die instead!”

Rossi stares at him as Hotch crumples to the ground and lets his head fall into his hands.

_I didn’t say goodbye._

 

 

Rossi walks into the hospital room with Eris on his arm, her wing in a splint and with a slow kind of anger showing on his face.

“Where’s Hotch?” Reid gasps instantly, pulling the oxygen mask aside. “He hasn’t been in, is he hurt? What happened to Eris?”

“He’s a fucking idiot, that’s what happened,” Rossi snaps, easing the dozy looking bird onto the back of a chair. She lists to the side, hooting softly to herself, and he puts a hand out for her to lean on. Morgan stares at the drugged-up owl.

“What happened to Eris?” Reid asks, as Rossi reaches over and smacks Reid’s hand off the mask before he can take it off again, pushing it firmly back against his mouth.

Aureilo struggles up, shaking his own head free of the mask looped around his instead. “And where’s Aaron?”

 

 

“Suspended,” Spencer repeats, voice oddly gleeful as Hotch pushes him out the hospital in a wheelchair, Aureilo in his lap. “You, Mr. Prim and by the book, got suspended for a week.”

“We lost our heads,” Hal grumbles, hanging her own head in shame as she ambles after them. “It’s not funny.”

“But you never lose your head! What did you _do_?” Spencer asks again, tilting his head back and, even with his skin pale and worn and eyes shadowed, Hotch finds himself once again thanking _someone_ that the stupid man is still alive. “No one will tell me. And no one is telling me what happened to Eris either. I’m getting better, you don’t need to keep sheltering me.”

“We always miss all the fun,” Aureilo protests from his lap as Hal and Hotch both ignore them.

 

 

Spencer stays over a lot during that week, and Hotch picks up an odd habit of holding his breath when he walks into any room Spencer is in, just so he can hear him still breathing. In between guiltily trying to think up ways to make it up to Rossi and Eris, which Rossi isn’t helping with by bombarding him with elated messages, somehow weirdly delighted that it was Hotch for once who’d lost control.

**Rossi – I know you’re sitting at home obsessing over your little freak-out**

**Rossi – Stop it. I can hear you thinking from my house. I can’t hear my TV over the sound of your brain ticking.**

**Rossi – You want to make it up to us?**

Hotch sighs as the cell buzzes with the last message, glancing over at the sleeping Spencer before picking it up and finally replying.

**To D. Rossi – Yes, so you’ll stop messaging. How?**

**Rossi – fucking tell the kid you love him already. Because at this point, he’s the only one who doesn’t know.**

Hotch throws his cell in disgust. Rossi is starting to disturbingly resemble a bored housewife.

 

 

He waits until he’s sure Spencer is firmly asleep before rolling over and wrapping his arms around him, pressing his nose against his head and breathing in the scent of his shampoo.

“I love you,” he says finally, voice muffled by Spencer’s hair.

 

 

Reid smirks, even as his heart attempts to jump out of his mouth in shock. He _knew_ Aaron can’t tell when he’s faking sleep. Morgan owes him five bucks.

“I love you too,” he says, after a beat. He’s never been more thankful for the fact that Aaron is hearing that from him and not from a recording on Garcia’s computer.

Aaron stills against him, and Reid can feel his heart thumping against his back.

“About bloody time,” Aureilo complains from his spot on the floor.

 

 

Reid is never going to be able to get the stink of pigs out of his clothes. Even Hal is complaining that she can’t smell a thing through the stench clinging to all of them. They’re all exhausted, all broken by the horrific case they’d been through.

So many people dead. So many failures to add to their growing lists.

“Go home,” Hotch tells him gently as Reid stumbles off the plane. “ _Your_ home. Get some rest, we can catch up on the weekend.” Reid nods, already distracted by the thought of his books and his couch calling to him.

“I’ll call you,” he says absently, wandering towards his car. He goes home and falls asleep without even taking off his shoes.

 

 

Hotch unlocks his apartment with the phone held to his ear, Spencer’s cheerful voice giving a polite request for him to leave a message. He smiles as Hal tiredly walks into the apartment ahead of him, still complaining about pigs, leaving him to lock the door and hang up his coat. Spencer must have fallen asleep as soon as he’d gotten home. Hotch had been right to send him straight there.

“Hey, Spence, just ringing to make sure you got home alright,” he says into the phone, pouring a glass of whiskey with one hand, Hal’s claws clacking against the tiles in the kitchen. “And I just wanted to say I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up just as Hal gasps.

“How sweet,” says a cold voice behind him. He turns to see Hal staring in shock at Foyet. The man grins widely, gun held casually in one hand. “You should have taken the deal.”

He shoots Hal in the chest without once breaking eye contact with Hotch.

She falls and takes him with her.


	12. For the first time, she doesn’t answer.

Hotch surfaces from darkness into a nightmare. He can’t move, his limbs laying sprawled around him like dead things, and, when he tilts his head down to look at his body, everything is painted red.

“I tried to wake you up,” hisses an indulgent voice, and cold eyes waver into view near his head. Hotch tries to look at them but they dance playfully in his vision, taunting him with their ambiguity. “But you wouldn’t play nice. So, I had a little fun with your bitch.”

Something touches him without actually touching him, and Hotch opens his mouth in a soundless scream, feeling Foyet’s hand reach deep inside him in a slow caress of his very core. He’s being split open, torn apart; all he can feel is Foyet’s touch, his hate, his _self._

Foyet is touching Halaimon.

The knife slipping into his dæmon is almost a welcome relief from the venomous touch of his skin, and Hotch moans in pain as Hal shudders and whines, too weak to defend herself.

“Me,” he gasps. “Hurt me, not her. Never her.”

His reply is a low laugh that chills Hotch to the bone: “Oh, I intend to.”

 

 

Reid staggers into the room, blinking sleepily. Even Aureilo is exhausted, ears drooping as he lopes after him “You could have stayed at home,” Reid tells him. They’ve been separated by death. It makes distance seem paltry in comparison. Even so, the very idea of Aureilo being that far away from him again makes his skin crawl. With Aaron is one thing, the man already holds Spencer’s heart in his hands. What’s one more vulnerability given to the one person who could destroy him in an instant?

“And miss all the fun?” Aureilo grumbles. “You know if I stay at home you’ll probably get yourself shot, or worse.”

Reid snorts, spotting Morgan’s head in the crowded police station talking to an officer. “I already got infected with anthrax this year. What are the chances of anything else happening to me?”

“Tempting fate,” the hare comments briskly, darting ahead to box playfully at the wan looking Naemaria.

 

 

“Where’s Hotch?” Emily asks, turning her head to look at Reid quizzically.

Reid checks for the fifth time in ten minutes. “He’s not answering his cell,” he replies, frowning at the blank screen. “He probably only just gotten to sleep…”

“It’s not like him to sleep through his cell ringing,” Aureilo points out, tapping a hind leg impatiently against the floor. “He’s like a mother to that thing, wakes up at the slightest noise.”

“Leave him a message,” Morgan says to Reid. “He can meet us at Barton’s house.”

 

 

“You’ve reached Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. Please leave a detailed message. Thank you.”

“Hey, Hotch. It’s Reid again. Listen, we’re going to need you to meet us at an address in Mclean, Virginia. Garcia’s patching you through the info—call me when you get this. Hope everything is okay. Bye.”

 

 

“Stop twitching,” Aureilo snaps as Reid’s hand drops down to his pocket to touch his cell again. “You’re making my fur itch.”

Emily looks up from her seat at Barton’s table, looking frustrated. “Where is he?” she mutters, biting at her own lip.

“Sleeping probably, the lucky bastard.” Sergio stretches from his sunny spot on the windowsill, with a clear view of the living room where Barton and his roe deer dæmon pace anxiously. “Morgan and Rossi aren’t worried yet, so we shouldn’t be.”

“I can’t help it,” Reid protests, feeling sick. “I’m a natural worrier.”

 

 

“Hey, Garcia. Has Hotch checked in with you?”

He can hear her surprise over the phone, a startled intake of breath. “He’s not with you?”

“No… he’s probably on his way.” Reid meets Prentiss’ gaze, shaking his head as an unspoken answer to the question in her eyes. Now, even Sergio is starting to look apprehensive, patrolling along the windowsill in tight circles.

“Well, I’ll get Tupelo to keep an eye on his office and let you know if he shows up here, okay?”

“Thanks, Garcia. Thanks for everything. Bye.”

He hangs up with the sick feeling in his gut beginning to spread overpoweringly. “Want me to go check on him?” jokes Aureilo. “I bet I could get there and back before lunch.” Reid shakes his head numbly and goes back to the papers he’s picking through for a lead, twitching every time he imagines a hum against his leg.

“I can get to Hotch’s and be back in half an hour,” Prentiss says suddenly, reaching for her keys. Sergio surges to his feet as though he’s been waiting for her to say it, startling the flighty roe deer.

“Who’s that?” Barton asks, lifting his head from his hands.

“Our supervisor,” Reid answers quickly, standing. “I’ll go. I should go, I mean…” Prentiss pauses and he can see the hesitation running over her face, the desire to let him go and check on his partner fighting with the knowledge that Reid is sorely needed here.

“I can stay,” Aureilo says abruptly, and Reid can’t help but flinch when Barton looks at the hare in shock. Old habits die hard. “You need Reid’s brain, Reid needs to go. So, I’ll stay. Best of both worlds.” None of the reluctance Reid knows they both feel shows in his confident voice.

“You can travel from your dæmon?” Barton says, and Reid was wrong. That isn’t shock on his face at all, but a fierce curiosity. “How did you do that? I thought the art of it was lost with the witches.”

“Long story,” Reid says bluntly, pleading expression aimed firmly at his friend and co-worker. She sighs, tossing him the keys.

“There and back,” she warns him. “We need you here. _All_ of you.”

Reid walks calmly to the exit until the door closes behind him, bolting to the car and feeling very much like a hare being chased by hounds.

 

 

Reid doesn’t knock when he races up the hall to Aaron’s apartment, just unlocks the door and lets himself in. “Aaron?” he calls into the silence.

Cell phone on the counter. Keys on the cupboard. Briefcase on the couch. No answer.

Someone moans.

Reid pulls out his gun and angles himself carefully, presenting a smaller target to an enemy. Heart hammering in his chest and mouth dry, he paces slowly forward, keeping to the wall, horrendously aware of just how alone and exposed he is. He should sidle back out into the hall and call for backup. He should alert one of the neighbours to call for help. He should do so many things right now.

But all he can think about is finding his partner. Alive. _Oh god, be alive Aaron, be alive._

There’s a bullet hole in the wall.

Blood on the carpet.

Reid can feel himself breaking.

_Aaron_.

Reid sees him on the floor, sprawled weirdly at the end of a long smear of blood as though he’s been dragged, and his mind goes eerily calm. _Call for backup. Clear the area. Administer first aid._

A flicker of movement in his peripherals as he steps cautiously into the hall and he turns his head to find George Foyet smiling at him from his seat on the floor, arm curled around the motionless, bloodied form of Halaimon, hand caressing her fur sensuously. He almost vomits at the sight of someone touching Aaron’s soul so casually. “I was going to go for a drive with him, but I figured you’d be the one to come,” Foyet says calmly, raising the hand not touching Hal. “And I promised Aaron I’d hurt him.”

He has a gun and there’s no way Reid can get his own weapon around in time.

He dives as the gun fires.

 

 

Emily is going over endless patient files with Barton, more spread over the floor for Aureilo and Sergio to examine, when fear slams into the hare like a fist. It’s gut-wrenching and he cries out, leaping up and scattering papers everywhere, almost shuddering with the strength of it.

“Aureilo?” Emily says sharply, standing and looking down at him with wide, dark eyes. He can already see her brain ticking, her hand reaching down for her cell.

“Spencer’s scared,” Aureilo tells her, turning his head to exchange a horrified glance with Sergio. “He’s terrified, Sergio. Something’s happening.” That bloody _idiot._ He’d known he shouldn’t have let him out of his sight, this _always_ happens!

“What do we do?” Sergio asks his human, standing as well and peering up at her as she pulls her phone out and quietly soothes Barton at the same time.

“What’s going on?” the roe asks. “Is this to do with Jeff? Has something gone wrong?”

Aureilo opens his mouth to answer but pain explodes into his leg and flank and he drops, squealing: “Spencer!”

 

 

Spencer doesn’t pick up and the only thing stopping Aureilo from losing his mind is the steady waves of pain in his leg—still alive, pain is good. Brain’s signal to the body, it means we’re still alive—, and Sergio’s comforting presence at his side.

“What is she doing?” he hisses, trying to stand and falling, body shaking convulsively. _Don’t think about what it’s like to die,_ he chants to himself. _Don’t think about him dying._

“Calling Penelope,” Sergio soothes, licking at his pained leg with one paw pinning him down. Aureilo could shake him off easily, more than a match for the slim tom, but he allows the comforting gesture. “Calm down, Aur. We’ll send help.”

“It hurts,” Aureilo states numbly, clinging to the thread that connects him to his human. When this is over, he’s going to kick Spencer’s scrawny ass for doing this to him _again_. “That’s good. Pain is the body’s motivation to withdraw from damaging situations and stimuli.”

Sergio blinks slowly. “You know, you get more and more like him the more frightened you are,” he says in his deep voice.

“You know I can still kick you, right?”

 

 

Eris is suddenly there, wings open and beak wide with worry. “The hell did you send him off on his own for?” she hisses, rattling her feathers anxiously. Aureilo ignores her, hoisting himself up on his front legs and peering around her to the humans.

“Did something happen to Hal and Aaron?” Naemaria asks Sergio quietly. “They would never let Spencer get hurt if they could stop it.”

Sergio doesn’t answer as Emily kneels down next to them, eyes locked on Aureilo. “I’m not waiting, Morgan. Stay with Barton. Aureilo, I… do you mind?” She holds her hands out and Sergio’s fur fluffs up for a moment before settling. Aureilo shivers and nods, letting her scoop him up into warm, steady hands; Sergio jumping up to cling tenaciously to her shoulder.

Spencer won’t mind. Aureilo knows how he feels about Emily, the same warm glow of friendship that the man feels when he looks at her burning in the hare as well. If it has to be anyone, he’s glad it’s her.

“Let’s go find them,” she says quietly, running out to the car with him in her arms and lowering him gently onto the passenger seat.

“Rabbits in back,” barks Eris, diving through the open passenger window and narrowly missing clipping Emily’s head with a wing. “We’re coming.”

“Drive,” Dave instructs, sliding into the seat with his face taut as Emily transfers Aureilo to the back seat. “Garcia’s sending units around there. We can beat them.”

 

 

Aureilo determinedly limps in after Dave and Emily as they enter Aaron’s apartment with guns drawn, stilling nervously at the sight of his door slightly ajar.

“FBI, show yourself!” Dave roars, stepping out, eyes darting around the room, and stopping. “Ah hell, _Prentiss_.”

“I’ll clear the apartment, you help him,” she says, moving further into the rooms. Aureilo dashes into the room, ignoring the starburst of pain in his leg, seeing Spencer sprawled on the ground and surrounded by _somuchblood_.

“Oh my god,” Sergio gasps upon seeing it. Aureilo shivers, frozen by distress in the doorway, unwilling to step through the swathes of red to reach his human for fear of what he’d find.

Dave crouches, Eris peering down over his shoulder. “Reid? Hey, Reid? Can you hear me?”

A soft groan, and Aureilo feels relief thundering through him. _He’s conscious. That’s good._

“Bullet wound to the leg, through and through,” Eris says for Aureilo’s benefit as Dave tears his shirt and wads it into a ball, pressing it against the wound on one side and angling his leg to keep the pressure on it. “His throat is bleeding.”

“Hotch isn’t here,” Emily announces, walking out, face pale. “Sergio found blood on his address book. There’s a page missing, under B.”

“Haley,” Aureilo says after a moment of thinking, mind whirring. “ _Jack._ They’re going after Jack.” He hops into the room, leg dragging, forgetting his terror in the rush of a puzzle to solve. “Spencer, who was it? Who was here?”

Spencer’s eyes flicker, glazed and confused. There’s a bruise coming up on his forehead, pupils reacting sluggishly to the light. Aureilo puts his paw on his shoulder and levers himself up to peer into his human’s eyes, noting with dull horror the long, shallow slice of a knife blade across Spencer’s throat. Someone had wanted to be sure they knew just how close they’d come to dying.

Aureilo can’t bear to die again, he can’t handle the thought of leaving him.

“Foyet,” Spencer mumbles, closing his eyes.

George Foyet. The Reaper. The man who cut up dæmons as easily as he cut up humans.

“This isn’t just Aaron’s blood,” Aureilo tells them, fur rising in fear.

 

 

Aureilo leans against Spencer’s side, one ear listening for the paramedics, the other attuned to the continued beat of their hearts. Dave is calm and steady, keeping a firm pressure on both sides of the wound even as Spencer dips in and out of consciousness. Aureilo fights the sleepiness that attacks him every time Spencer’s eyelids droop, determined to keep a guard on his lanky human for as long as he’s able.

Look what happens when he lets him out of his sight.

And, now, Halaimon and Aaron could be dead. He can’t really focus on that thought without something in him rebelling against the idea, his world unable to continue existing without the large, firm presence of his wolfdog and her human. Everything Spencer feels, he feels too, and there’s no one in this world that Aureilo loves more than them, except for Spencer himself. And he isn’t anywhere near as cautious as Spencer is about showing it.

The paramedics arrive as Emily’s cell rings, breaking the terse silence as they busily wrap Spencer’s leg and slide an oxygen mask onto his face.

“Garcia says that there was John Doe delivered to St. Sebastian’s Hospital,” Emily says. “Apparently he was signed in by Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid.”

Dave blinks and looks down at Spencer, who reaches up to pull the oxygen mask aside, shrugging off the paramedic’s soothing hand. “He took my credentials,” he gasps, face shiny with sweat. “He was touching Hal, and he took my credentials.”

 

 

Emily holds Sergio close on the ride to the hospital, Aureilo a firm presence at Spencer’s side and keeping a continuous litany of ranting up to the shocked amusement of the paramedic and his parakeet dæmon. “I’m going to get you a leash and tie you to Derek, and I’m going to tie Aaron to Dave, and then you two are going to have goddamn structured playdates in a padded room because you can’t be trusted to be functional adults and exist in society without flinging yourself at every hazard you encounter,” he scolds the quiet Spencer, pausing to lick at the flaky blood around the narrow cut on his neck.

Spencer pulls the mask aside again, causing both Aureilo and the paramedic to make disapproving noises. “Which hospital?” he asks, panting slightly.

“Bethesda is closest,” the paramedic says after a pause, but Spencer’s already shaking his head.

“St. Sebastian’s,” he says, turning his head to look at Emily pleadingly.

“It’s not much further,” she adds. “He has… his partner is there.”

The paramedic pauses, before nodding and waving the driver on.

 

 

Spencer always does pick the worst times to become chatty. He always had, ever since they were kids. Aureilo is always much cleverer about picking his times.

“No, no,” Spencer snaps, pushing the nurse’s hand away. “I have to see Aaron first, Aaron Hotchner. Please, he was admitted earlier today. I _need_ to see him.”

“You need to go into surgery,” the nurse replies shortly. “Otherwise you’re not going to have a working knee anymore. He’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Spencer’s eyes are desperate as he sinks down, Aureilo shivering next to him. The nurse nods to the anaesthetist, who leans over with the mask. “Wait!” Aureilo says suddenly, bolting up with realization thundering through him. “We can’t have opiates, no opiates! Emily, help us _please._ ”

He struggles to stay awake, the nurse glancing down at him in shock, but the world around him dims as the anaesthetic takes effect.

 

 

Hotch doesn’t let himself wake slowly; as soon as he feels consciousness dawning on him he grabs at it furiously and drags himself up. Blinking and disoriented, he struggles around the machines tying him to the bed; a mask over his face and IVs in his arm. A cool hand touches his shoulder, pushing him down, soft words floating through the mist surrounding him.

He opens his eyes and finds himself staring into Emily’s eyes, dark and worried. “Hey, Hotch. You’re in the hospital, you’re safe, you’re okay.”

He tries to swallow, mouth dry and tongue thick and ungainly. He’s not okay, Foyet is out there. Foyet is out there and… “Jack,” he wheezes, pulling the mask outside and gasping in pain as the morphine fails to dull the pull of the wounds he’s been left with.

_“You’ll have scars just like these when I’m done with you.”_

“Jack and Haley, he’s going to go after them,” he tries to tell Prentiss desperately, clutching at her hand with a frustratingly weak grip. “You need to warn them, he said he’s going to go after those I love.”

Something shadowed passes over her face and he goes cold. “They’re fine,” she says quickly, seeing his face drop with horror. “They’re okay, we already sent Rossi over there to pick them up. Morgan’s going to meet him there once he’s finished with a case.”

Hotch nods, relief making him lightheaded as the pain and drugs in his system begin to take effect again. He feels odd, the dull ache of his wounds nothing compared to a deep dragging agony in the centre of his very being that’s almost like the worst possible combination of anguish and sadness. He imagines the sensation is very much how it would feel to have his heart broken endlessly without respite.

Turning his head shows him Hal, stretched out on her own bed and covered in just as many machines as him, dark lines broken by bandages and shaved patches of thick fur. “Halaimon,” he breathes, reaching out for her, needing to feel her fur against his hand. His hand drops before he can reach her and he slips back into darkness, calling her name into the black as he goes.

For the first time in his life, she doesn’t answer and he’s alone.

 

 

He wakes up once and Emily is still there. “Where’s Reid?” he asks, turning his head to stare longingly at his dæmon. “Where’s Spencer?”

No one answers him, and he’s not entirely sure he even managed to say the words aloud.

 

 

The first thing he notices when he surfaces is the floating quality to his mind and limbs, and it’s a fierce, hungry rush when he recognises the sensation. _Great_ , he thinks as the old craving resurfaces, tilting his head back to examine the morphine drip. _Just what I needed._

A soft noise and someone holds a cup under his chin, ice chips rattling in it. He swallows a few thankfully, feeling them coat his mouth and throat with cool liquid. When he turns to thank them, Haley is looking down at him with a strange, longing expression. “Hi, Dr. Reid,” she says.

He blinks in surprise and peers past her, heart leaping with shock and relief at the welcome sight of Aaron in the bed next to him, eyes closed and breathing normally. “Haley, thank you,” he says belatedly, looking back up at her. Aureilo straightens up next to him, throwing off the effects of the anaesthesia slowly, and locks his gaze on the bed past Aaron, where Hal lies terribly still.

“They’re going to put us into witness protection,” Haley says suddenly, looking down at the chair. Reid blinks to see Jack’s blonde head, curled onto his knees as he dozes in the seat. “They’re sending me and Jack away.”

“It’s to keep you safe,” Reid replies, throat tightening as the implications hit him. They’re taking Jack away. Aaron won’t be able to see his son until Foyet is caught.

That could be years.

“How much danger are we in, Dr. Reid?” she asks, her lynx curled protectively around the sleeping Arelys under Hal’s bed.

“A lot.” There’s no point in not being honest. Aaron wouldn’t thank him for giving her false hope.

She nods. “I thought so. When I walked in here and saw him like this, I knew… this was bad. You know, this is why I never married him. He would have married me, if I’d have let him. But I knew this would happen one day, that his job would destroy us. Can I ask you a favour?” He nods, wordless. He’d never wanted this insight into Aaron’s past, not if Aaron wasn’t the one sharing it. “Will you look after him? They say they don’t know how long this will take and… he doesn’t love me, but he loves Jack more than anything and this is going to kill him.” She hesitates, seemingly choosing her words carefully. “And he loves you. You’re going to be the only one who can help him through this.”

He closes his eyes for a moment to try and push down the sudden surge of pain in his chest, something that no amount of morphine is going to help with. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of letting him face it alone.” Aureilo hops down from the bed and hobbles over to the two feline dæmons, nuzzling against Arelys sadly. The lynx shifts slightly, letting the hare press against the other side of the kitten.

Haley leans down, smelling of perfume and baby powder, brushing her lips gently against Reid’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Reid meets Aureilo’s gaze; he knows what the hare is thinking without asking, and there’s never been anything in the world that that he’s been so terribly afraid of. There is nothing that can compare to the agony of this idea, but it pales compared to what Aaron will be facing when he wakes. “Haley…” he begins.

 

 

This is the hardest goodbye he’s ever said, and he knows he’s not strong enough to survive this.

“Can you catch him?” Haley asks, tears that she refuses to let fall glittering in her eyes. Hotch can see Spencer turning his head away, ashamed to be a third party to this private moment.

“We will catch him, I promise you. And then I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

She nods once and lifts Jack up, carefully placing him on the bed next to him. “Da,” he says, smiling gappily at him. “Da, Lys!”

“Hey, buddy,” Hotch greets him, pulling him close despite the pain. “You and Mommy are going away for a while, with Arelys. You keep Mommy safe, okay?” Jack smiles and wraps his hand around his, small fingers barely covering two of his own.  “I love you, buddy,” he says to his son, holding him close and memorising the scent of him, feeling something damp fall onto the soft hair under his chin. “I love you, so, so much, and I’m going to think about you every day.” Haley takes him, and his hand lingers on his son’s small palm for a long moment.

Then he’s gone, and he takes his heart with him.

Hotch curls onto his side and tries to contain the pain, to stop it from leaking out of the gaping wound in his chest he feels sure has to be there, but a noise escapes him anyway. A warm arm wraps around him as Spencer awkwardly manoeuvres himself into the bed next to him, thickly bandaged leg bumping painfully against the railing. He turns, pressing his face against Spencer’s warm chest and focusing on the steady beating of his partner’s heart as his own shatters.

“What do I do without him?” he mumbles into the coarse fabric.

Lips brush against his forehead, a hot, wounded breath blowing across his brow as Spencer shares his pain. Hotch can feel him shuddering with grief, as though he’s losing something in this moment as well. “We catch the bastard. And we bring them all home.”

Hal thumps her tail weakly against the bed in agreement and, in that moment, Hotch doesn’t realize that it’s not only his own heart breaking.


	13. Haunted by dreams of a half-dug grave.

He can feel him moving further and further away as the hours drag by, like being torn apart very slowly down the middle. They’d travelled away from each other before, been violently torn away from each other even, but this is different. Aureilo is further away than he’s ever been, and he’s taking with him Reid’s ability to breathe. Aaron is silent and withdrawn, coping both with the loss of his son and his dæmon’s struggle to survive through her horrific injuries. Reid can’t bear the idea of burdening him with his pain as well right now.

Instead, he lies on his side watching the morphine drip slowly into his IV and tries to pretend that he doesn’t want it. Every moment his dæmon is gone brings him one step closer to that shack and the smell of burning offal.

He sleeps fitfully and wakes suddenly, haunted by dreams of a half-dug grave.

 

 

On the third day, Hal finally wakes up. Hotch is laying on his back with his eyes closed, but as soon as she surfaces, he knows. He turns his head and tries not to cry out with relief as her dark eyes meet his, clouded and puzzled. “We hurt,” she complains, struggling to lift her head to peer down at her body. “Inside _and_ out.”

“They took Jack away,” he murmurs to her, reaching his hand over to curve it around her muzzle lovingly, heart twinging at the words finally spoken aloud. “To keep him safe.” He doesn’t need to tell her that there’s no guarantee they’ll see their son again for years, or ever, because she can feel the truth in the pain they share. He sees her shudder, a soft whine of hurt issuing from the dry throat caused by that knowledge. She closes her eyes and he lets her sleep. God knows, sleeping is the only time he can escape from this nightmare.

Spencer is quiet in the other bed and Hotch knows that he should be talking more to him, sharing his pain with him, but he can’t bring himself to be that selfish.

He’d rather suffer alone.

 

 

Later that night, he jolts awake with shock pouring over him as though he’s been doused with a bucket of icy water; shock that isn’t his. “Hal?” he breathes, peering over at her. She’s sitting up on her bed, a deep shadowed form in the dark of the room, like peering into a black hole. He flicks on the light next to his bed, a quick glance over at the other inhabitant of the room showing him to be deeply asleep still.

“Where’s Aureilo?” she says, voice rattled as though she’s contemplating something that scares her to her core. “Why isn’t Aureilo here?”

Something heavy and foreboding settles in his stomach and he struggles up, detangling himself from IV lines and machines, limping over to his partner’s bed. Even in the dull yellow light of the lamp, Spencer is grey and ill-looking, his face twisted in pain that the medication should be holding at bay.

Hotch has seen him like this before.

“He was here three days ago,” he whispers in dull horror as he realizes what his partner, his stupid, foolish, completely unselfish partner, has done. “With… with Jack.”

How could he have missed this?

“Oh, you _idiots_ ,” Hal groans. “Aaron, we need to undo this. Bring him back!”

Hotch closes his eyes to shut out the drawn figure in the bed. All he succeeds in doing is replacing it with the ghost Spencer of his memories. “We can’t. They’re gone.”

 

 

The nurse wakes him up while checking his vitals, her sunny-cheerful disposition a stark contrast to the melancholy that’s settled unfailingly onto him. When she bustles away, it occurs to him that her cheerfulness has also served to mask the cold anger radiating at him from the other beds.

Hal’s awake. And she’s noticed.

“I know what I’m doing,” he instantly defends himself, sitting up and flinching when he meets the dark stare they’re both levelling at him. “We’ve been separate before.”

“For this long?” Hal snaps, at the same time Aaron replies with, “This far?” Both their voices resonate, not only with anger, but with fear.

For him. He’d never wanted that. This was never about him.

“You’re not the only ones who cares about Jack,” he says with finality, fighting the desire to rub at the crook of his arm anxiously, a nervous tick he thought he’d beaten. “And if this is the price we pay to keep him safe, then I’ll happily pay it and then some.”

They have no reply to that.

 

 

Hotch goes home to Spencer’s apartment because his own is filled with ghosts. In his defence, it’s not like Spencer is overly mobile at the moment, with his legs heavily bandaged and still unused to the crutches that are going to be his constant companion for the next six months. Yet another thing Foyet owes them.

“Home sweet home,” Spencer says dryly as they enter, wobbling off down the hall to the bathroom.

“Need help?” Hotch calls after him, only half joking. His only reply is a muffled snort as the door shuts firmly. He looks around while Spencer is gone, something about the living room striking him as different from the last time he’s been there.

When he finds it, Hal makes a soft noise of delight.

“Where did you get these?” Hotch asks Spencer quietly when the click of his crutches announces his return. He reaches a hand out and runs it along one of the frames of the photos of Jack scattered throughout the bookshelf.

“Emily went and got them when they cleaned up your apartment,” Spencer admits, easing himself down onto the couch. “Do you like them?”

“I love them,” Hotch says, smiling sadly back at the grinning face of his son.

 

 

Reid tries to be sneaky about his observations of Aaron as the other man reads a book in the armchair across from him, but Aaron catches him anyway. “You could join me here?” Reid offers, trying to slide his stiff leg around to make room on the couch.

Hal puts her head gently on his thigh, stopping him from moving it. “Stop it, you’ll injure it worse,” she scolds him, closing her eyes and making herself comfortable. He waits a long moment, staring down at her head so close to him, and remembering the sick fury that had rushed through him when he’d seen Foyet with his fingers threaded through the beautiful dark fur. He’s not sure what makes him do it in the end. Maybe he just wants to associate something else with her fur instead of Foyet’s cold smile and the impact of a bullet through flesh.

He lowers his hand and slowly runs it over her head, gently caressing the silky fur and marvelling at the texture. Hal doesn’t react, just makes a happy grumbling noise and sinks deeper onto the couch, seemingly determined to go to sleep there.

It’s oddly hypnotic to sit there and work his way down the powerful lines of the wolfdog’s body, feeling the thick scabbing where the knife had slid deep into her and the rough bandage covering the messy wound on her chest. Reid closes his eyes for a moment and imagines it’s Aureilo’s heart thumping slowly against his leg and his hare’s soft fur under his palm.

It’s almost possible to pretend.

 

 

Hotch’s grip on the book is painfully tight as he tries to ignore the sensation of Spencer’s hands on his dæmon. At the first touch, he’d stiffened in a panic, remembering all too vividly what it was like to have Foyet’s hands on them, but seconds later he realizes that this is so, so different.

Hal is relaxed, almost asleep, under the tender hands of his boyfriend, and Hotch couldn’t be any more opposite to that if he tried. Every part of him is awake with an electric sort of tension, and it’s as though he’s feeling those slow hands on himself instead, running down his own skin. He makes a strangled kind of noise when Spencer’s fingers ghost over the base of Hal’s skull, and feels Spencer’s gaze land heavily onto him, curious and inconveniently observant. He finally lifts his eyes up to meet Spencer’s, knowing that the other man can read every emotion in them and then some. He’s expecting curiosity, perhaps some light amusement. He’s not expecting the challenge in the hazel glare. He quickly reassesses his opinion. The man knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.

Hissing slightly, he drops his hand into his lap, closing his eyes as his palm meets the proof of his arousal there, heavy and warm under his hand. A shocked gasp from the other side of the room shows that Spencer’s regard hasn’t left him as he arches into his own touch, mouth open and panting.

“Aaron,” Spencer murmurs. The tone is reverent and, for the first time in weeks, there’s no sign of his pain.

 

 

Aaron meets his gaze without flinching and, very deliberately, drops his hand to the noticeable bulge in his pants. Suddenly, Reid is very stunned and desperately aroused. He knows, theoretically of course, what happens when lovers touch each other’s dæmons, but they had never really dabbled in it. With both Hal and Aureilo being fairly standoffish, it hadn’t felt like something they would enjoy.

They’d been wrong.

“Has anyone touched Hal before?” Reid asks curiously as Aaron tilts his head back, half lost in his own touch. There’s a hint of a flush to his cheeks and on the triangle of skin visible at the opening of his shirt, and the sight of that flush sends a warm pool of heat to Reid’s crotch. He shifts uncomfortably, his breathing quickening.

Aaron slowly shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, voice edged with tension. “Not like this. Not ever like this.” He opens his eyes, wide and dark, and in them is an unspoken question.

“Once,” Reid admits, remembering Ethan and the fumbling nights they’d spent together. “Aureilo didn’t like it.” He’d slept with him anyway though and, for a moment, he curses their injuries, because there’s only so much of a flustered, aroused Aaron Hotchner he can take without reciprocation.

Aaron shivers and Reid realizes that he’s well and truly lost in himself at this point. “I don’t think I like the idea of sharing you with anyone,” Aaron says, his voice low and focused. “Male or female?”

“Does it matter?” Dark eyes meet his again; it’s Reid’s turn to shiver, and if he doesn’t do something soon he’s going to explode from the tension of it. “Male.”

 

 

Apparently, it _is_ possible to be in your late thirties and still have time to find new kinks, as Hotch is discovering. There’s something about hearing Spencer discuss his sexual history that’s both oddly arousing and incredibly maddening. Hotch feels like a fumbling fourteen-year-old again, curling his hand around himself and letting his hips rock up into his grip as Spencer stumbles over his words.

Brilliant. He’s going to give himself a Pavlovian response to Spencer in lecture mode and it’s going to make work incredibly awkward.

“Why are you asking?” Spencer asks, his voice intent. “Should I be worried about you going to break Ethan’s knees for breaking my heart?”

Hotch snorts. “Sounds as though you were the heartbreaker in that relationship.” Who wouldn’t be willing to have their heart be broken for a night with the man in front of him, however? Hotch isn’t sure he would pass it up.

A dark laugh that’s almost cunning is his reply. “Did you want me to tell you that I fucked him?”

_Oh._ Hotch’s eyes shoot open in shock at the crude word coming from the normally reserved man, his mouth suddenly dry. The shock of arousal at the words is fast and electric, and he almost twitches along with it. “W-what?” he stammers, lost. Spencer isn’t looking at him anymore, which is a pity, because Hotch can suddenly feel himself dancing on the knife’s edge, a coiling tension in his lower stomach that has his hips twitching almost involuntarily.

“Because I did, you know. I took him to bed and I fucked him until he came with me inside him.” Hotch blinks, choking back some sort of obscene noise, and looks up to see Spencer watching him with a cocky grin and his own hand on himself, fly open and revealing the barest hint of dark curls under his hand.

He shudders and hurtles over the edge of his climax, feeling himself spilling over his hand as he hisses out what might possibly be Spencer’s name, or maybe just an unintelligible noise. Spencer says something in reply that he misses, but when he opens his eyes and looks at his partner, his eyes are shut and his hips are rocking into long, slow strokes that leave him panting.

Hotch moves with difficulty, considering the stiffness of his wounds combined with the sudden wobbliness of his legs and comes up behind him, tilting his head back to meet his mouth. It’s an awkward, upside-down kiss with Spencer sprawled on the couch how he is, but it gives Hotch a fantastic view down the long line of his partner’s body, right to the hard length of him extending from the trousers slid very slightly down slim hips.

Hotch closes his eyes and threads his fingers through Spencer’s hair, the other hand reaching down to grip at his spare hand, their fingers tightly entwined as Spencer whines into his mouth and shudders against him.

“Your turn,” he teases, mumbling the words into Spencer’s gasping mouth. “Come for me, love.”

And he does, letting him have the last word for once. Hotch holds him until he finishes shaking, but when he finally lets go, Spencer catches his hand. “It hurt more than I could have possibly imagined to send him away,” he admits. “But we’d do it all again for you in a heartbeat, because we love you more than you can possibly know.”

The knowledge that he would, and has, torn himself in two for Hotch is sobering and overwhelming all at once. “We love you too,” is all he can say, pressing his head into Spencer’s warm shoulder and ignoring the sting of his injuries; Hal’s quiet agreement from the other side of the room joining his.

 

 

It’s not Reid who wakes up to nightmares anymore. Instead, he sits in the bed with one leg held awkwardly by pillows while Aaron twitches and moans, sweat beading on his forehead. Twice now, he’s had to wake him up from fear that his thrashing would tear one of the precariously stitched knife wounds that he’s dotted with now. Hal joins him in the endless nightmares, kicking and whining from her place on the floor, occasionally reaching out with her muzzle to search for comfort from someone who isn’t there to give it.

Reid is alone and helpless during these attacks, without even Aureilo to hold close. Instead, he talks to them about anything he can think of, keeping his voice low and soothing and as unlike Foyet as possible. He talks until his voice is sore and light is filtering through the curtains of his bedroom, relentless cravings dragging at him the tireder he gets.

He wants his dæmon and he wants the nothingness of being high, and only one of those is within his reach.

 

 

Spencer talks to him while he sleeps now, and Hotch doesn’t want to think about what’s brought on this sudden odd behaviour. He wakes slowly with coiled tension draining from him from some horror he doesn’t quite remember, and the first thing he notices is the soft, scratchy cadence of Spencer’s voice. He sounds tired, and broken, like he’s been talking for hours and receiving no answer.

Perhaps he has been.

Hotch gathers himself to roll over and curl himself around his partner, preparing himself for the pain that even that casual movement will bring, when Spencer nonchalantly admits something that turns him cold. “Every moment I’m awake, I’m thinking of using again,” Spencer states dully, like it doesn’t even fucking matter. “Did you know that opiate addiction permanently alters the chemistry of the brain? It’s classed as a latent chronic brain condition. Latent: a state of existing but without yet manifesting or developing. Chronic: persisting for a long time or constantly recurring. It sounds pretty final how this all ends when you put it like that, doesn’t it?”

There’s a long, terrible silence and then a low chuckle. “Major-depressive symptoms are also a result of prolonged no-contact between a person and their dæmon, so I don’t even know if I’m talking anymore or if it’s the cacophony of conflicting chemicals in my malfunctioning brain. They did an experiment in Russia in the fifties. Locked thirty-three babies in one room, their dæmons in another, and never let them touch. They died within six months. Every one of them.”

Eventually, he stops talking and his breathing evens out and Hotch can collect the courage to turn to look at him, everything in him screaming at him to gather the slender man into his arms and never let him go. Hotch leans over and presses his lips against his partner’s, feeling the lax mouth shift slightly as Spencer startles awake. “Aaron?” he says, voice husky, and Hotch realizes it wasn’t the kiss that woke him. “Are you crying?”

He thinks about shaking his head but knows the lie is ridiculous when the truth of it is on both their faces. “I just want this hell to be over,” he says finally, and Spencer shudders.

“I know,” he replies, leaning up and kissing him desperately, as though he’s trying to cling on to everything they are.

 

 

One day after what feels like months, but what is in reality only weeks, Reid wakes up and light itself has turned against him.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asks and Reid can’t answer because the sound of his voice rips through his skull like a knife. Instead, he moans and tries to curl into himself, pulling a pillow over his head to block out the light that sears his eyes and sets his brain to clawing its way out of his skull. He can’t survive this pain. There’s no surviving this; this is what it feels like to die.

He’ll die gladly if the pain will just _stop_.

“We’re going to the hospital,” Aaron says after an impossibly long amount of time has passed without Reid dying, but, when he tries to move him, Reid gags and vomits all over the carpet and Aaron’s pants, not even able to feel embarrassed.

Oddly, it’s almost a relief to vomit and, when Aaron swears and bolts away to get a bucket, Reid slips into blessed darkness, falling limp.

 

 

Hotch goes back to work first, a complication with Spencer’s knee meaning he has to go back in for another round of surgery. “While you’re all here,” he begins cautiously, eyeing his team and their assorted dæmons, uncomfortable with how they’re going to react to this news. After all, it’s unprecedented…

“Is this about Jack?” Morgan asks suddenly.

“It’s about Reid,” JJ corrects him, blue eyes never leaving his. The woman should be a profiler. She’s as good as any of them. “Look at him, of course it’s about Spence.”

“Actually, it’s about Aureilo,” Hotch says heavily, seeing them all still with shock.

He tells them.

 

 

“How often do the migraines occur?” the neurologist asks, peering at the scan of Spencer’s brain. Spencer shrugs, staring at his shoes, and Hotch nudges him.

“Maybe once a week?” Hotch finally answers, breaking the awkward silence. There’s a capsule attached to Spencer’s belt that they wear to keep insect dæmons safe, and Hotch can see the neurologist’s cat dæmon watching it suspiciously. “It’s happened five times now, he’s barely even conscious throughout them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with his brain from what I can see. We may need to consider that the migraines could be psychosomatic in nature.”

Spencer walks out on them, the click of his crutches not slowing for an instant as he passes through the doors.

 

 

“I’m not crazy, there’s nothing wrong with me,” Reid snaps, whirling on Aaron when the man catches up with him in the bright light of the parking lot. Aaron silently hands him his sunglasses and he puts them on gratefully, cutting out the glare.

“Psychosomatic doesn’t mean crazy,” Aaron replies coolly. “We should have told her about Aureilo. Maybe this is because of your distance with him.”

Reid rolls his eyes behind the glasses, safe in the knowledge Aaron can’t see the disrespectful gesture. “Of course it’s to do with Aureilo,” he snaps, feeling the usual pang at his hare’s name. “It wouldn’t have helped to mention it though; she’s not a daimonologist.”

“Well then, maybe you should speak to a daimonologist.” Aaron is being endlessly patient, and Reid feels a kick of guilt at the way he’s acting. It’s hard to be rational and composed when every part of you is hurting.

Suddenly he blinks, jolting slightly, and Hal snaps to attention. “I never saw Foyet’s dæmon,” he says slowly, seeing Aaron bristle at the name. “He was sitting there next to Hal, but I never saw a dæmon. Did you?”

He aims the question at the wolfdog, who shakes her great head slowly. “Not a sniff,” she admits.

“Is this a lead?” Aaron asks cautiously, standing very still and calm.

“Maybe,” Reid muses, running over every contact in his head who could help him with his enquiries. “I’ll look into it.”

 

 

“Maybe the unsub is using Solanine to poison his victims,” Prentiss offers, leaning over and examining the medical reports.

“What?” Morgan asks, frowning.

Reid answers. “Solanine is a potent toxin and hallucinogen that comes from the deadly nightshade plant.”

“Black,” Prentiss says suddenly, turning her head to grin at Reid. Reid blinks and stares at her, confused. “Hey look, wonder boy, something I know that you don’t! Looks like those gardening classes Mom made me take paid off.”

“What are you talking about, Prentiss?” Hotch asks her, seeing Reid’s confusion deepen.

She grins again, holding a hand up in surrender. “Solanine is found in the black nightshade plant, not the deadly nightshade. The symptoms would be wildly different if it was deadly nightshade being used.”

Something unpleasant tingles up Hotch’s spine as Reid shrugs and turns back to his file. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he says, ignoring Morgan and Prentiss teasing him.

_You don’t,_ Hotch thinks quietly, but he doesn’t know how to voice his fears.

 

 

“I’m stepping down as team leader,” Hotch announces, seeing the team stare in shock. “Morgan will be replacing me.”

“Does this mean I don’t need to call you boss anymore?” Reid asks innocently, and Emily chokes on her coffee.

“Bedroom talk out of the workplace,” Rossi deadpans, while Reid looks confused.

“The lengths we go for them, and they’re all idiots,” Hal grumbles by his knee as he tries not to smile.

 

 

“Reid, what are your thoughts?” Morgan’s gaze flickers up to Reid, his nose buried in the latest case file.

Reid looks irritated, and Hotch notes with trepidation the return of the sunglasses. “We only just got them, I’m still reading,” he complains, fingers slowly moving down the page. This time, no one makes a teasing comment about him slipping. When Hotch looks at the rest of the team, their eyes are locked on Reid and they all look concerned. Except for Rossi, who’s watching Hotch with a blank expression that bodes ill.

When Reid gets up to sidle down to the bathroom an hour later, Hotch corners him in the kitchenette on the way back. “Migraine?” he asks, concern clawing at his gut as Reid pulls away slightly.

“It’s just a headache,” he mumbles, trying to dodge past. Hotch leans in close to try and press the back of his hand against his partner’s forehead, feel for the tell-tale clamminess that precedes an attack, and he catches the slight scent of mint on Reid’s breath and the acrid scent of vomit barely noticeable underneath. “Just a headache,” Reid repeats, letting his head drop against Hotch’s cool hand and closing his eyes behind the glasses.

 

 

Aaron is allowed a phone call with Jack for his second birthday, and the longing and pain in his voice almost brings Reid to his knees as he listens.

“Do you want to…?” Aaron offers him the phone and for a single, fleeting moment Reid contemplates taking it and hearing his dæmon’s voice. But, he’s gotten very good at ignoring what he wants these past months, and he shakes his head.

Even so, when Aaron hangs up the phone with a sigh, it’s like losing him all over again.

 

 

Reid drops the file in front of Hotch, the smirk on his face oddly unnatural after the past few months of drawn tension. “Riboflavin and magnesium,” he announces, tilting his crutches around so he can lower himself into the chair.

“What?” Hotch asks stupidly, feeling Hal lift her head to stare up at Reid from under the desk.

“It’s the vitamins my doctor has me taking to try and help the migraines,” Reid explains. “We tried other combinations, but they didn’t work because I have a tolerance to certain medications, so we substituted them out.”

“Are you still having the migraines?”

Reid shakes his head, frustrated. “Yes, sometimes, but that’s not the point. We _substituted_ them Hotch. It’s so simple, most of the time it’s just a matter of dosage.”

He clicks. “Foyet’s substituting his medications.”

Reid nods, eyes bright with the hope that they might have an end to this nightmare on the horizon as Hotch reaches for his phone.

 

 

He’s talking to Rossi when Eris suddenly opens her wings and calls out, “Whoa, JJ! Catch him!”

When he turns, Reid has slumped over from his spot in front of the whiteboard, crutches clattering to the ground as his hands slacken and release. “Spencer!” he yelps as Hal leaps up in shock, moving swiftly towards his partner.

JJ lowers him to the ground, grunting slightly under his ungainly weight and length, prying open an eyelid to check his pupils. Hotch reaches them even as he begins to stir, blinking and shaking himself awake, looking confused. “Sugar crash,” he says with a wobbly grin when he’s recovered enough to sit up, the grey pallor back to his skin.

“We’ll get some water,” Rossi says sharply, pulling Hotch up by his arm and dragging him out the room, ignoring the full water cooler they pass on the way.

“How much longer?” Rossi snaps, turning on him. “You need to recall them, or at least get Aureilo back.”

Hotch shivers, hearing the constrained worry and anger in his voice. “Any contact with them puts Jack in danger,” he says, hating himself as he voices the words. “Reid and Aureilo knew that, and they went ahead with this anyway. They knew the risks.”

His friend is already shaking his head. “No one knew the risks, Aaron, no one has ever done this before.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“We keep this up, we’re really not going to have a choice. Or are you willing to bet that their time doesn’t run out before Foyet’s patience does?”

Is he? If it comes down to it, who will he pick? His son, or his partner?

He’s scared that he knows the answer.


	14. Hide from the fox.

The first few nights hadn’t been so bad. It had been thrilling, almost, to be travelling to an unknown location with the slight hint of danger on the horizon. Thrilling, until he looks away from the scenery flashing by the window and over to the sleeping child in the car seat; blonde hair tumbling messily around delicate eyelids and so vulnerable it hurts.

He curls up on the backseat as the stairs through the window move slowly across his view, but he can’t sleep. In the front seat, Haley dozes with her lynx dæmon overflowing across her lap. The marshal accompanying them has his dæmon on the other side of Jack, a coyote named Cas that reminds him of Harback. Occasionally, the coyote leans her head on the shoulder rest of the driver’s seat and nudges her human affectionately before returning to her guarding stance.

Aureilo is alone.

 

 

He had wondered what Haley would think of having her ex’s new partner’s dæmon floating around in her new life, but she seemed to take it in stride.

Aureilo hadn’t expected to make friends, but he did.

“You alright?” Kaelion asks one day, sauntering over to the hare on wide, silent paws. Aureilo had been skulking around the window, peering blearily out and feeling ill.

“Fine,” the hare snaps moodily, his own bad temper exacerbated by the faint echo of Spencer’s.

A nose touches his ear, cold and gentle. He twitches uncomfortably away, turning to glare at the narrow-muzzled coyote. “You’re allowed to not be okay, you know,” she tells him with mock sternness, sitting with her paws tucked daintily against her chest. “I can’t even go ten metres from Sam without feeling sick. What you’re doing is commendable.”

She’s not really much like Harback at all.

 

 

He begins by sleeping in the living room by himself but, eventually, finds himself snoozing under Jack’s crib. On the nights he sleeps, anyway, and isn’t kept awake by faint traces of misery and worry. It’s one thing to decide to do this grand gesture and keep Aaron’s son safe; it’s completely another when every day drags by like they’re walking through honey and the mindless monotony has him grinding his teeth.

Then, one morning, Jack wakes up and peers over the edge of the crib at him, wide grin on bright display. “Reelo,” he cheers upon seeing the hare, and reaches a chubby hand down. Aureilo is touched enough by the gesture that he lets the bobcat kitten formed Arelys play with his ears to keep Jack quiet over breakfast.

It’s good to have a reminder of what they’re doing this for.

 

 

It takes a month to break down Cas’ determination to stay completely professional, but Aureilo gets there eventually.

Aureilo’s pressed against Jack’s side in the middle of the backyard, peering about. Arelys’s new favourite lynx form shivers in between Jack’s bowed legs, excited to play. “Cover your eyes Jack,” Aureilo warns him, laying his ears back.

Jack giggles, peeking out from between his fingers. Arelys sees her first, slinking behind a tree. “Fox!” she squeaks, shifting to a bird and fluttering around over-excitedly.

“Run from the fox!” Aureilo urges them as Cas bounds out with her teeth bared in a mock snarl, the two young ones scattering about to hide. Cas chases Arelys as Aureilo and Jack make a wobbly escape into the garden. “Like this, Jack,” Aureilo urges, flattening himself against the earth. “Stay close to the ground.”

Jack giggles again and presses himself into the dust. “Hide fox,” he whispers into the dirt, his chin encrusted with brown. “No fox.”

“That’s right,” Aureilo agrees solemnly. “No fox.”

 

 

Spencer has Aaron, and Aaron has Hal; Aureilo never feels as alone as he does on the days when he knows they’re together. It begins to take its toll on him and, eventually, even Haley manages to move past her ingrained discomfort with speaking with other people’s dæmons.

“If I asked to go home, would they let me?” she asks him, sitting down firmly next to him one day with Kaelion prowling at her back. “Would they let us?”

He lifts his head slightly to look at her, the thudding remains of a migraine fading from his skull and leaving him listless. “That would put Jack in danger.”

She bites her lip and glances away, and Kaelion rumbles anxiously.

That night, he falls asleep alone on the floor beneath Jack, and wakes up bracketed by warm bodies. Kaelion is deeply asleep, thick fur radiating heat on his left. Cas is awake and watching the door, always on alert. “Figured you could use a hand keeping an eye on the kiddo,” she murmurs softly, tail twitching.

If Aureilo closes his eyes and leans against her side, the doggy musk of her could almost be Hal. “Thank you,” he replies, thinking of his beloved wolfdog.

 

 

Jack turns two and they spend it alone because Haley refuses to let Aureilo hide away for the duration of their guests’ visit. After all, a human-less dæmon will certainly invite attention, which is something they’re desperately avoiding.  

Haley and Sam spend the day trying to pretend everything is normal, and Arelys spends it flickering from canine form to feline form, each looking grumpier than the next. Aureilo eventually gets sick of constant kitten claws on his tail and scurries out the back to hide under a bush. He hears Aaron on the phone with Jack and almost races inside to see if Spencer is on the line as well, but he manages to stop himself.

That night Jack screams himself sick while a harassed Haley tries to calm him down. Aureilo hops up on the chair next to the crib and desperately recites _The Church Cat_ from memory. Jack quietens from the first mention of ‘In a busy little town’.

“Thank you,” Haley tells him gratefully after tucking Jack in and turning off the light. “What would we do without you?”

He lies in the dark and wonders what Spencer is doing without him. The next day, the migraine returns and he stays limp on the couch, empty and broken.

Haley cries.

 

 

Haley takes Jack to the park and Aureilo doesn’t go. After all, the same problem. A dæmon without his human will draw attention.

He never stops regretting this choice.

 

 

He’s lying on the couch trying to sleep off a migraine when George Foyet saunters in the front door and shoots Sam in the chest. Aureilo leaps up as Foyet turns the gun on him and thinks that at least Spencer won’t see their death coming.

At least, in death, they’ll be together again.

“Get in, coney,” Foyet says with a sneering grin, dropping a wire cage onto the ground with a clatter. “Or the next bullet goes through the coyote’s head.”

Aureilo weighs his choices but, in the end, it’s no choice at all. He gets in the cage without complaint, flinching as the lock engages behind his tail, and watches blankly as the Reaper plays his games.

 

 

Reid is hobbling after them on his cane down the hall of the bureau, face taut with worry and a distance to his eyes that means his mind is split between them and the resonances of his hare’s emotions. “Foyet’s been watching him this whole time?” he questions, brow furrowed as his attention wanders again.

Hotch turns on his heel, frustration slamming through him as Reid stops and rubs as his eyes. “Reid, you need to get your head in the game,” he snaps, but Reid’s not listening anymore. Instead, he drops like he’s been shot, hands flying up to clutch at the side of his head as he makes a long, whining noise of barely contained agony. Hotch steps back as the cane clatters away to come to a stop under Hal’s paws.

When Reid starts screaming time comes to a stop, and Hotch will never forget the sound.

“He’s got them,” Hotch cries, staggering back from the ghastly sight as JJ tries to pull Spencer out of the desperate ball he’s bowed into, still screaming, agents and dæmons gathering around with horrified expressions. “Foyet has Aureilo. Foyet has Jack!”

And he’s running, hearing Rossi and Morgan shouting instructions as they race after him, but he can’t stop.

He can’t stop until the screaming stops, and part of him knows that it never will.

 

 

“I’m going to find her, with or without your help, and me and Miss Brooks are going to have a wonderful time together… really… engaging…”

With every grunted word, Foyet slides the knife along the skin of the coyote dæmon, Cas nothing but a bloodied mass of fur and gaping wounds. Aureilo is empty, unable to feel anything but for the thundering shock that paralyses him as the stink of blood and piss fills the room.

Sam moans weakly, hand twitching on the ground, fingers gone. “You’ll never find her.”

Foyet drops the knife with a hysterical laugh, picking up Sam’s cell instead. “Oh, I already have. Now, be a dear and don’t die. I need you to be alive to tell Agent Hotchner that it’s his fault his family is dead.” He turns to Aureilo, interest in the dying marshal waning now that the man has served his purpose. “Now, how about we leave him a souvenir to remember his boyfriend by?”

Aureilo kicks and claws and bites and shouts, but when the hand grips him tightly and the knife cuts deep into his flesh, there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Instead, he just screams.

 

 

Rossi’s voice is the only thing holding Aaron to his sanity as he crouches over Sam Kassmeyer’s dying body and tries not to look at the wreck of what Foyet has left of his coyote dæmon.

“Hang on, just hang on,” he murmurs desperately to the gasping man, knowing that it’s hopeless as his breaths begins to rattle ominously. Death is a tangible presence in the room and their time is running out.

His son’s time is running out.

“I’m sorry,” gasps Kassmeyer, lips and teeth stained with red. “I tried.”

His eyes slip shut and Hotch swears, feeling some sort of rolling horror wash against him from Hal. “Aaron,” she calls softly, her voice a choked gasp. The paramedics are there, working busily over Kassmeyer and the still coyote dæmon, trying not to show revulsion at the thing that has been done in this house, and Hotch stands and walks to his dæmon on legs that move on autopilot. She’s upstairs, outside the room that would have housed his son. Rossi tries to push him back. That doesn’t stop him from seeing what Foyet has left impaled to the bedroom door with his knife.

“I’m going with Sam,” he states, staring at the ghastly memento with murder in his heart.

“Aaron,” Rossi begins, his skin a pallid green and his tone a warning.

“I’m going with Sam.”

 

 

“Hello, Haley? Marshal Kassmeyer has been killed and your location has been compromised. Ma’am I need you to focus right now. This is about saving your son, we’re going to bring you both in safe, but you need to listen to me. And I’m afraid there’s more. Your son’s father has been killed as well.”

Aureilo tries to call out to her, but he’s lost somewhere in his pain-addled brain, drifting in and out of consciousness; Foyet’s voice is floating from miles away, from under the sea, from somewhere he’s not. _He’s not dead, Aaron’s not dead, don’t listen to him_ , he screams, but the words are soundless. He can’t speak, he can’t hear, he _can’t._

“Shall we go see to our guests, witch-dæmon?” Foyet asks him suddenly, leaning close to the cage and smiling, his eyes soulless and empty. “She’s coming to us… and she’s bringing the wee sweet babe.”

He blinks away those soulless eyes and slips into oblivion, feeling Spencer falling with him.

_“What’s wrong with you?”_ snarls a ghost from their past.

_“There’s nothing wrong with us,”_ Aureilo says, but his voice is Spencer’s and it’s far away and getting further with every passing moment.

 

 

Hotch holds the phone with steady hands and this is the calmest he’s ever been. He’s dancing on the knife’s edge and on either side of this thin blade of sanity is the loss of everything he’s ever gained. He speaks before Foyet has a chance to begin his sick games, voice clipped and controlled. “If you touch any of them…” More than he already has, and Hotch’s stomach rebels at the thought.

“Agent Hotchner!” Foyet sounds as though he’s greeting an old friend, joyously. “What took you so long? I thought the hare’s little present to you would have had you running. Did you like it? We picked it together, just for you.”

“Why did you hurt Aureilo?”

“Aureilo? Oh, are we using names now for inconsequential things? How feeble dæmons make us… how obviously they highlight our flaws and our weaknesses for the whole world to gaze upon. Take for instance your _Aureilo_.” The venom in his voice is almost palatable, leaving a slick oily taste in Hotch’s mouth. “European hare, _Lepus europaeus_. Asocial creatures, they rely on speed to escape from danger. Pathetic, inept in a fight, they’ll turn tail and run when faced with a predator. Tell me, Aaron, what do we make from the man with the soul of a hare, that chooses to court the heart of a wolf?”

“You hate dæmons.” Hotch tries to stall him, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Your dæmon settled as something you saw as weak, and you hated that, didn’t you? She wasn’t strong enough and you decided all dæmons were a weakness.”

A dark chuckle. “Those are your words, not mine.”

“Is that why you cut the dæmons first? You disable the humans, but you cut the dæmons. Where’s your dæmon, Foyet? Was she your first victim? Did you lock her away from the world so no one could see how you failed, even as a child?”

Long, cold silence. “You know what I’ve been thinking? Once I’m finished with Haley, I’m going to show that bastard son of yours his mother’s body. And then I’m going to break the hare’s neck in front of him so the last thing your boy knows is it screaming as it dies.” Hotch makes a noise that’s a cross between fury and agony, but Foyet is already talking over him, and he’s triumphant. “Aaron, I really must go. They’re here.”

This is what it is to be pushed off the edge, and Hotch goes into madness gladly.

 

 

Aureilo opens his eyes expecting death, and instead Haley is looking down at him as though her heart is breaking. “He’s Foyet,” the hare gasps, trying to stagger up in the tight crush of the cage, and listing sideways unevenly. His fur rips from his skin as it sticks to the dried blood on the bottom of the cage, sticky and matted down his body. “He’s Foyet. I’m so sorry, Haley.”

“I know,” she murmurs, turning her head slightly to peer at the pacing form of the Reaper. She reaches out and releases the catch on the cage, flinching as it clicks loudly. “He’s going to kill me, Aureilo. When he’s busy with me, you need to get to Jack and run. Please. Save my son.”

The phone rings and Haley twitches towards it, eyes huge. “That’s for you, Haley darling,” Foyet calls, behind Jack as the boy nervously watches his mom with Arelys in his arms. Kaelion crouches between them, tail lashing, watchful.

“Don’t stop running,” she whispers.

He won’t. If it's the last thing he ever gives Aaron, his son will not die here.


	15. Everything they died to protect.

Reid surfaces. There’s a cool hand on his forehead and another pressed to his throat. His head is being cradled in someone’s lap; he’s sprawled limply on the floor. _Why? What happened?_ _All I remember is pain._

“He’s waking up,” hums an indistinct voice. “Reid, honey, are you with us?”

Garcia.

He can hear two more voices nearby, hovering around him and dipping in and out of tune. He can’t quite make out what they’re talking about, just the anxious, frightened tones and the distinct air that something, somewhere, has gone unbearably wrong.

The side of his head is a mass of pulsing agony, and his brain has ground to a halt.

“He’s going to take them somewhere to hurt Hotch, he wants to play with them before he ends this.”

“Jack’s home. He’d take them to the home Hotch’s son grew up in—the one place the kid would feel safest.”

_Aureilo._ All he can think about is escape. _My dæmon. I want my dæmon. He’s hurting._

“Aureilo,” he moans, tilting his head back into the warmth of the person holding him. “Fuck, it hurts. Make it stop.”

“Christ, Penny, what has he done to him?” Something sharp and narrow cards gently through his hair, pulling threads of it away from his eyes. The voice is male, unfamiliar, lilting. “What has that sick bastard done?”

“Reid, hang in there, okay sweetie? We’re with you. We’re going there, and we’re going to get your dæmon and bring him home to you. Just stay with us.”

_Stay with me_ , Reid repeats dully, reaching for the thin thread that connects him with his dæmon and finding it burning. _Stay. You promised._

 

 

“Aaron.” Haley is tense, but there’s a determination in her that he recognises; one that is so innately Haley that he knows immediately that she hasn’t given up. “Oh, Aaron. I’m so sorry, he told me…”

“Don’t show him any weakness, no fear,” he instructs her, pushing his foot down as far as it goes and feeling the car shudder under him. _I’m not going to make it… I’m going to be too late._

A slow shuddering breath. “Sam? Is he…”

He never was very good at lying to her. It was part of the reason they’d never worked out to more. She’d always known when he was being insincere. “He’s fine. Sam is fine.”

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, do you always make a habit of lying to people who are about to die for you? I mean, her and the little Jackie boy over there, they’re going to die because of your inflated ego, Aaron. The least you could do is tell them the truth. And your little boyfriend too; everyone you love gone in an instant.”

“Da?” Jack’s voice, distant from the phone but piercing. Terrified. In a single moment, Hotch goes from almost paralysed with fear, to infuriated. He’s going to destroy the man who taught his son to fear like that.

“He’s a fox, Jack,” Haley says suddenly, and there’s a rustle of furious movement as though she’d been waiting for Foyet to move closer to the phone. “He’s a fox Jack, run from the fox! Hide!”

Foyet swears into his ear and suddenly the phone is moving, the line crackling. Hotch can’t think for the misery of not knowing what’s going on over the other side, for not knowing what’s happening to his family.

Jack screams and there’s another shriek, animalistic and shrill. Foyet cries out in pain.

A second scream, Haley’s this time, and the sound of Kaelion roaring. It’s a predatory throbbing, and, when Foyet yells again, Hotch shivers with the image of the lynx’s claws slashing out to protect his young. Hal is upright in the backseat, ears perked and eyes burning, black lips pulled back to reveal long canines.

“Haley? Haley!” Hotch shouts, every iota of his being waiting frozen for an answer.

Panting breaths, and someone is talking again through thick tears, Kaelion’s pulsing snarls still crackling through the line. “Promise me you’ll tell him how we met, and how you used to make me laugh, Aaron. Promise me.”

His stomach plummets. “Haley, no…”

“Promise me. He needs to know you weren’t always this serious. I need him to believe in love, because it’s the most important thing, but you need to show him. You and Spencer, please. Promise me!”

He’s crying, and Hal is crying, and Kaelion’s roars are slower, tireder. “I promise.”

He’s not going to make it in time.

“Tell Spencer I said I’m sorry for what happened to Aureilo, and tell him thank you so much because, if it wasn’t for him, Jack would be dead. Aaron? You hold that man. You hold him tight, because he has what we never did, and I want that for Jack.”

Hotch opens his mouth to answer, to say something, anything, but his voice is shattered by a gunshot. And another.

Kaelion stops.

Everything stops.

 

 

“He’s a fox, Jack, run from the fox! Hide!”

Aureilo rockets out of the cage. His head spins as the hours of immobility and blood loss pull him down. Jack pelts for the door; Arelys a snarling, miniature Hal at his back.

Foyet moves faster than any of them could have imagined, darting past the bristling Kaelion and reaching down for Arelys with a cruel hand. Jack screams at the touch. Arelys does too.

Aureilo doesn’t think. He just reacts.

Piercing, chisel-like incisors cut through flesh like butter, and sharp claws made for digging and gripping hard earth slash viciously across the outstretched hand; Aureilo screams with furious triumph as tendons and muscles tear under his assault. The sound is muted and dull to him, but no less forceful for the handicap.

Foyet cries out in pain at the unexpected ferocity of the cornered hare and kicks out, throwing him down. Aureilo scrambles to his feet, deftly avoiding the lashing boot, and dashes to the door after Jack.

Kaelion lands on the back of Foyet’s neck, a sudden slashing distraction of fangs and claws, and Aureilo is out of reach.

Jack and Arelys are on the stairs, peering through the banisters with wide eyes as Aureilo lurches up to them, abrupt weakness crashing into him and trying to pull him down. “We have to hide, Jack,” he gasps, pushing at the toddler’s back with his forepaws. “Hide, now, quickly.”

“No fox,” Jack murmurs uncertainty, taking a few staggering steps up the stairs, and that’s wrong because they needed to be _outside_.

“No fox,” he chatters, trying to herd the boy around and feeling his feet begin to skitter out from under him. _No, I promised. I promised_. “Arelys, Arelys, hide Jack. Do you understand?” He needs her to understand because he’s not going to be able to. Arelys watches him solemnly with Hal’s eyes for a moment, before flickering to a form she’s never been before and nodding firmly.

“Hide Jack,” she repeats, folding back long ears and bounding up the stairs on gangly legs.

Aureilo lets himself fall, unsure if the muffled roaring is real or imagined.

Someone catches him.

 

 

He wakes up once and he’s being cradled in gentle arms, someone curled around him, a heart pattering frantically against his spine. He lifts his head and finds himself looking back; pressed flat against the ground and eyes glittering in the darkness.

“Shh,” the other him says, his voice young and clear.

 

 

Hotch doesn’t remember entering the house with Hal at his side, his gun drawn. He remembers finding Haley’s body, without a scratch but still and empty. The room is gold with her sacrifice.

When he touches her, just to check, hope guttering in his heart, she’s still warm but he knows instantly that she’s gone.

Kaelion gave himself for their son.

“Jack,” Hal murmurs, shivering with hate in her eyes. “We have to find Jack.”

 

 

Hal sees him before Hotch does, and he fires as Foyet throws himself at him from behind the curtains; face bloody and marked with the claws of Haley’s dæmon. Kaelion made him bleed and it’s a savage grief that hits Hotch now.

Foyet takes one look at the expression on Hotch’s face and, in that moment, recognises the madness of a man who has everything to lose.

He runs.

Hotch doesn’t even raise his gun. He knows how this ends. Hal hits Foyet from behind without making a sound; silent death on black paws, and Foyet goes down.

He won’t be getting up; this is their promise.

“I surrender,” Foyet tries to choke out, just once, before Hal closes her jaws around his throat and silences his voice forever. She’s slow. She’s meticulous. She doesn’t make a single noise as she crushes the life out of him, and Hotch watches and passes silent judgement.

Wet sounding gasps, and his feet and arms smack dully against the floor. _For Haley. For Jack. And for everything you took from me and would have taken if we didn’t stop you._

Gurgling. _For Kassmeyer, and his dæmon who loved him. For Aureilo. For Spencer._

Silence.

_For all your victims. Every last one of us._

A voice calls him back to himself.

“Hotch! _Hotch_! He's dead! Hotch, stop! Come on, _stop_! It's over! It's over... it's okay... it's over, man.”

He staggers up and back and into Morgan’s arms, finding his hands covered with blood and Hal with her eyes wild and teeth bared looking at Naemaria like she’s a stranger. “I had to,” he tells Morgan seriously, reaching out a shaking hand to draw Hal close, nausea thundering through him. Her muzzle and chest is covered in blood, her coat reeking of it. He holds her anyway, feeling her shuddering slow and stop. “I had to… Jack. Jack!”

They surge upright and cast about wildly, Hal’s nose to the ground.

“Go find him,” Morgan says, leaning over what’s left of the Reaper after Hal had exacted her revenge for everything he’d done to them. There’s no judgment in the man’s eyes. “I’ll deal with things here; go get your son.”

Just a calm acceptance.

 

 

They find a trail of blood and Hotch can’t voice the question he needs to ask.

Whose is it?

He’s not sure he wants the answer.

“Aaron, here,” Hal says, pressing her muzzle against a large clothes chest in a darkened office, leaving a smear on the dark wood. He puts his hand on it, veins running cold, and opens it with dread coursing through him at what’s going to be revealed.

Blood.

So much blood.

And, under that, Jack blinking blearily up at him. “No fox?” he asks, voice high and shaken, arms wrapped tightly around a limp, dark-furred form.

Aureilo stands and looks up at them from where he’d been pressed to the bottom of the chest by Jack’s legs. “We hid, Da,” he says, and Hal makes a soft noise when she realizes it’s not Aureilo at all, but Arelys. “We hid like Mommy said.”

“You did a great job, guys.” He scoops up the child and his bloodied bundle and holds them close, feeling twin hearts beat reassuringly against his chest. Hal runs her tongue across Arelys’ tan fur, lighter than Aureilo’s but just as soft, whining with love and pride and grief. _Alive. Both still alive._

_Thank you, Haley._

_Thank you._

 

 

One last kiss.

He presses his lips against Haley’s and whispers his final words touching her skin. “Thank you. I’ll look after him, I promise.”

 

 

Reid follows Emily through the doors, the pain finally receding enough to allow him to breathe. She hovers protectively at his elbow, in case he falls again, but he refuses to let anything divert him from his goal.

He knows what to expect. Rossi had warned them what they’d found, what Foyet had done.

It doesn’t mean he’s ready.

He finds his heart stretched out on a small bed in a dim room, Rossi and Eris by his side. The familiar shape of him is broken by the bandages wrapped thickly around his head, and the strange stretched out posture they have him in. Aureilo never sleeps like that. He sleeps curled up against Hal, paws tucked in, not loosely thrown out from his body.

Reid takes five staggering steps forward and something inside him bursts as he lays his hand on his dæmon’s side, feeling everything he’d lost in the past few months come rushing back. It’s the worst kind of relief, painfully good and tearing him open as it goes.

“Foyet’s dead,” Rossi tells them carefully, dark eyes locked on Reid’s face. Reid ignores him, gently touching the thick bandage covering what’s left of his beautiful hare’s left ear, his own feeling oddly disembodied. He touches his own to see if it’s still there, and his fingers can’t compute with his brain at finding it untouched. A phantom ear. “He killed Haley. Jack is alive, and physically unharmed.”

Reid shudders, switching his attention to Aureilo’s remaining ear, and marvelling at the silky softness of the delicate skin. He’ll never take it for granted again. “We were lucky,” he tells the dæmon quietly. “What’s does it matter what we look like when we have each other?”

Rossi hugs him, everything between them not needing to be spoken. Reid tries not to cry at the unspoken emotion between them. They still have each other.

All of them still have each other.

 

 

Reid watches as Aaron carefully straightens Jack’s tie, the toddler still and quiet.

He doesn’t smile as much anymore.

Aureilo hobbles up beside Reid to watch their lover and his son prepare to bury Jack’s mother. Reid glances down at him, still delighting in the joy of having him by his side. The hare’s slim, brown form is broken by the mass of white bandages still covering the wound on his head and the deep black of the short mourning cape tied firmly around his shoulders, covering the upper half of his body. Hal and Arelys both wear the same, Hal’s hanging slightly lower than the two hares’.

“We’re sorry to be intruding still,” Aaron mumbles, coming up beside them and averting his gaze from Aureilo’s injury. Reid flinches when he realizes that he’d tilted his head around automatically to listen, both him and his dæmon positioning themselves with their right ears facing their partner. “You’ve been so kind to allow us to stay with you.”

“It’s no trouble, Aaron,” Reid says, laying his hand on the other man’s arm. “You’re always welcome. There’s plenty… well, adequate amounts of room.” He smiles weakly. The three of them plus dæmons are quite cramped in Reid’s small apartment, but he’s just happy to have them together again. Even if it’s a tossup on who wakes up crying first in the night out of Jack or his dad.

“I love you,” Aaron breathes, pressing his lips quickly against Reid’s and pausing to savour the moment. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“Never,” Reid replies, heart twisting at the pain in his partner’s voice.

 

 

“W.S. Gilbert wrote: ‘It's love that makes the world go round.’ And if that's true, then the world spun a little faster with Haley in it. Haley was my best friend since we were in high school and, eventually, the mother of my child. If there's one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our son, Jack.

Haley's love for Jack was joyous, and fierce, and that was reflected in her dæmon, Kaelion’s, final act. That fierceness is why she isn't here today. A mother's love is an unrivalled force of nature, and we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life, and from the manner of her death.

Haley's death causes each of us to stop and take stock of our lives; to measure who we are and what we've become. I don't have all those answers for myself, but I know who Haley was. She was the woman who died protecting the child we brought into this world together and I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was and how she loved and protected him. I will never stop loving her for that.

If Haley were with us today, she would ask us not to mourn her death, but to celebrate her life. She would tell us… she would tell us to love our families unconditionally and to hold them close because in the end, they are all that matter.

Today, we gather to remember Haley and Kaelion, all they gave to this world, and everything they died to protect.”

Jack steps forward, Hotch steadying him with the hare Arelys close at his heels, and holds his hand over the open earth of the grave. The coin glitters in his palm, the lynx depicted with his head bowed protectively. “Goodbye, Mommy,” he says seriously, releasing the coin and watching it fall.

_Goodbye, Haley_ , Hotch thinks, picking up his son and watching the mourners begin to scatter. _We will never forget you._

 

 

Hotch opens the door reluctantly, unwilling to face the conversation that his location is sure to bring. “Chief Strauss, I appreciate your coming to me.”

She steps in through the threshold, glancing sideways at the bookcase and the overflowing desk that scream _Spencer Reid_ rather than _Aaron Hotchner._ “Of course, this is no time to be away from your son,” she murmurs, her own dæmon lowering his head in respect and rumbling a soft greeting to the reticent Hal.

Jack peers out of his chair at her, Arelys bristling at the foot of the chair. She’s a lot less trusting since Foyet.

Aren’t they all?

“Say hello to Chief Strauss, Jack,” Hotch tells him firmly, wiping a glob of cereal off of his chin. Jack doesn’t answer, just looks from his dad to Strauss and shrinks back.

“Hello Jack,” Erin says haltingly. When Hotch turns back to her, her eyes are locked on the hare-shaped Arelys and there’s a sadness in them that dries his throat. “She hasn’t shifted since that night, has she?”

Hotch shakes his head. “She’s not settled, not so far as we can tell but…”

Her gaze flickers up to him. “And what does Dr. Reid think of the form she chose?”

Here it was. “Ma’am, with all due respect, if this is about my relationship with Dr. Reid I would prefer it wasn’t around my son. Perhaps we can arrange a suitable time to speak of it, in private?”

She’s already shaking her head. “Aaron, let me be frank. If I had of found out about this a year, or even as little as six months ago, I would have had my reservations. But in light of everything that has happened, and the lengths that you have both gone for each other, I believe I can turn a blind eye. As long as it continues that it doesn’t affect your work.” She’s staring at Arelys while she talks, and he knows she doesn’t dare say anything else. He knows that everyone knows now.

Hal could hear the gossip following them through the halls when they’d taken Jack in to put in for his leave. Every eye was on Arelys. _“…saved by his dæmon…”_ _“…impossible. You know they’re together?”_ _“…can’t imagine the pain. I couldn’t do it, Barlos would…”_ _“…she’s a hare. Settled at two?”_

“It won’t, ma’am. Thank you.”

“But having said that, I would like to discuss something with you. I’ve spoken with the Director, and we see no reason for you to return to the Bureau if you desire to spend more time with your son. We can offer you retirement, full pension and benefits.”

“Are you saying you want me to leave the BAU?”

“Well, obviously that's your choice, but I'm offering you a way out. Agent Morgan's promotion was temporary but he's exceeded our expectations, and I'm confident that I could make it permanent, if you decide to step down. The team would be together and you could be with your son.”

“When would you like a decision?” He needs to discuss this… with Hal, and with Spencer.

“I thought I would be leaving with one. What's your hesitation?” Her eyes are easy but determined.

“I would just like to weigh all of my options.” Jack makes a noise behind him, a clatter of plastic cutlery against his bowl.

She nods. “Whatever you need.”

 

 

Spencer finds him that night lying on the couch watching the rise and fall of Jack’s chest in his cot. He’s almost too big for it, certainly ready for a bed. There are no words between them as Spencer lays his coat and keys down and hooks the cane over the back of the couch before sliding in and curling against him, arm wrapped around his torso. Hotch wriggles back until they’re flush against each other, breathing in unison.

“Strauss offered me retirement,” he murmurs, as Aureilo snuggles up to Hal in the corner of his vision. His dæmon lowers her head and nuzzles sadly at the bandage, still unused to the lopsided effect it leaves on his narrow skull.

Spencer doesn’t reply for a long moment, breath blowing gentle and warm on the back of Hotch’s neck. “You’re not going to take it. Fighting the bad guys is who you are.”

Hotch chuckles, feeling the rumble of Spencer’s words reverberate through his chest. “I know. But things do have to change.” He feels the other man tense, even after all this time ready for Hotch to walk away. It’s not going to happen. It’s not ever going to happen.

“We need to move.” Hotch smiles as Spencer relaxes, humming slightly in muted disappointment, pressing his face against the back of his neck. He can feel the soft flick of his eyelashes against his skin, raising goose bumps where they touch. “There’s not enough room here. I need to make Jack a home, a new home. A new start. He can’t sleep in your living room for the rest of his life.”

“Hmm. Yeah, that could make bringing home friends difficult,” Spencer jokes. “We’ll miss you guys. I’ll even miss having Jack sneakily feeding all his vegetables to Aureilo under the table.”

“You don’t have to miss us,” Hotch suggests, not entirely sure if it’s his heart beating faster, Spencer’s, or a combination of both. “You could… you could come.”

There are no breaths against the back of his neck anymore, Spencer clearly holding his. “Are you asking us to move in with you?”

“No,” Hotch says firmly. “I’m asking you both to move in with _us_.”


	16. He took nothing we didn’t take back.

Spencer has scars that Hotch had never considered before. Out of the two of them, he’d have put money on himself being the paranoid one. Spencer doesn’t even have a security system in his apartment.

“No,” Spencer says instantly in the fourth house they’ve looked at. Hotch takes a moment to ease the bite of frustration down at the prompt vetoing.

“Why?” he asks, looking about at the spacious living room opening into the kitchen. It’s well-lit, roomy… he can already see the walls lined with bookshelves, and Spencer curled up in front of the fireplace with his dæmon and a book.

“I don’t like it.” Spencer’s tone is mulish, but Hotch goes cold when he sees his partner’s eyes skitter over the wide windows. To lay in front of the fireplace, he’d have his back to the windows. He wonders when it had happened that Spencer had started to enter a room like Gideon, and how it had escaped his notice.

“How about an apartment?” he suggests instead as they leave the house in silence.

“You want a house.” Spencer looks tired, worn. Aureilo is close enough under his heels that if the tall man wasn’t so closely attuned to the hare’s location, he’d be stumbling over him. Hotch can feel the realtor’s gaze sliding over the bandage on the hare, curious and repelled in equal measures.

_I want you_ , Hotch thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud.

 

 

Rossi walks into Hotch’s office and puts something on his desk, his lips tightly pursed enough that they’re almost white. Eris is for once silent and serious, her feathers ruffled with discontent.

“What’s this?” Hotch asks, eyeing the metal capsule in the evidence bag carefully. It looks like a capsule like what field agents with insect dæmons kept theirs in but…

“Foyet’s dæmon,” Rossi murmurs, looking ill. “He sealed it in, Hotch. He sealed his dæmon into the shell.”

Hotch stares at the thick lines of welding around the opening of the casing. Hal cringes away, whining anxiously. This. This more than anything drives home the inhumanity of the man who had turned their lives upside down on a whim. If he could do this to his own dæmon, it was no wonder he hadn’t flinched away from mutilating others.

“My god,” he says eventually, bile burning his throat.

Rossi snorts. “No god was involved with this.”

 

 

Aaron watches him closely now. Reid is idly flicking through a pile of psychology volumes when he looks up to find Aaron’s heavy regard on him through the open doorway. “What?” he says, aiming for a disarming smile and feeling it slide awkwardly across his face.

“Nothing,” Hotch replies quickly. Aureilo shifts against Reid’s side and peers over his thigh at the other man as he disappears back up the hall.

“He was checking on us,” Aureilo says quietly. “He’s worried about us. Why?”

Reid shivers slightly, remembering Hotch and Jack dropping a glittering gold coin into the wet earth. “He’s scared of losing us.”

“We’re not going anywhere but with him.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

 

 

Hal makes it her personal duty to carefully scope out the apartment listings.

“What about this one?” she asks, laying her muzzle across it and looking up at him with woeful eyes. “There’s a park nearby.”

Hotch glances down. “Spencer won’t like those bushes by the front windows.”

She huffs. “But they stop people looking in.”

“They also stop us from looking out.” She grumbles and nudges the paper until he takes pity on her and flips the page, going back to his own report as she resumes her perusal.

“Park?” Jack asks hopefully over his soggy bowl of cereal. Hotch glares quickly at his dæmon, who looks sheepish, before turning to his son.

“Maybe later, if Spencer will come with us.”

A soft noise and Spencer appears in the doorway, looking sleepy and ruffled, his hair wild. “Come where?” he asks, yawning.

“Park!” Jack yells, and Spencer’s face lights up.

 

 

Reid walks into the conference room one day looking harassed, Aureilo at his heels. Hotch sees the way the team’s eyes automatically dart to the hare to check if he’s there, a habit they’ve all picked up since his return.

Today, they linger.

JJ swallows hard and it takes Hotch a moment to see what’s different. Emily flinches, and a cold anger burns in Rossi’s fixed features that’s going to take a long time to fade. The bandage is finally gone, leaving fur that’s slightly flattened where it had sat. Aureilo’s right ear stands high and proud as it always has, but his left is a shortened remnant, barely two inches remaining and ragged where the knife had slipped as he fought his dismemberment. Where he had kicked.

Where he had screamed.

Hotch stares at the thick pink scarring of the healing wound and hears Hal rumble her own anger behind him.

Aureilo stands on his hind legs and sweeps his gaze over them sternly. “He took nothing from me that I didn’t take back in the end,” he says, voice resolute.

“I bet it doesn’t impede your ability to be a loudmouth,” Eris replies without missing a beat, and the tension is broken.

But they all keep their dæmons close that day.

 

 

“This one is nice,” Reid muses as they step into an airy passage and he feels Aaron still next to him, his eyes roving over the entrances and exits like a cornered rabbit.

“There’s a tree that leans close to the window of one of the bedrooms,” he says warily. Reid narrows his eyes, suspicions rapidly becoming firm.

“All the better for Jack to sneak partners in and out,” he jokes, waiting for a chuckle that never comes. “What’s going on here, Aaron?”

“Nothing.” For a smart man, Aaron’s vocabulary lately has been sorely lacking.

“Oh? You know, there’s this thing called transference.” Reid deliberately edges his tone with cockiness, a bite of arrogance that he knows Aaron will respond to.

He does. “You think I’m unconsciously redirecting my emotions onto you?” He looks calm, but the slight flaring of his nostrils suggests otherwise. Hal looks away, clearly deciding to keep clear of this battle.

“I’m not the one who walks into a room already looking for the exits, Aaron. That’s you. Understandably, perhaps.”

Aaron blinks once and the anger is gone, replaced with confusion. “But the fourth house… the windows.”

“Are styled in a fashion popularized in the sixties, before lead paint was banned?” Reid edges closer to him, pressing their shoulders together in a comforting motion as Aaron looks taken aback. “We have a toddler in the house and that butter yellow trim looked delicious. At some point, either Jack or I was going to lick it.”

“Huh.” Aaron looks about slowly, before wrapping his arm around Reid’s shoulders and pulling him in close, tucking his nose into his hair. “Well, what about this one then?”

“It’s west to work. Which means we’d have the sun in our eyes on both commutes.” Reid doesn’t let his face twitch, his best poker face in play. Aaron stares at him, eyebrows twitching as he tries to decide on an appropriate reaction to that statement. “I do like that tree though.”

“The sycamore?”

There’s a beat of silence where Reid tries to work out if he’s being set up, and then gladly leaps into the trap anyway. “It’s a hedge maple. Also known as a field maple. The angle of the seeds is wider, and sycamores wouldn’t be grown so close to the house unless the landscaper was incredibly short-sighted or just—”

There’s the chuckle he was aiming for earlier. “Is that a yes?”

Someday he’s going to have to find a way to show this man just how incredibly in love with him he is. “Yes.”

It’s probably not going to be today.

 

 

Jack stays with Jessica while they move and Hotch has never been more grateful for anything more than the failure of Foyet to change him. He hasn’t become clingy, he hasn’t altered. His smile is returning, sped along by Spencer’s willingness to spend hours reading to him or pulling faces at him, and Hotch is determined to nip any isolation in the bud before it becomes habit.

Jessica cries when she sees him and he toddles over to her and asks her for a hug in his most serious voice. Aureilo flinches at the sight of Jessica’s lynx dæmon, so much like Kaelion that Hotch had done a double take when he’d wandered in the door the first time. They all watch Arelys carefully as Jessica helps pack Jack’s bags, but, although the young dæmon hovers close to Berrien, her form stays firmly a hare.

“I think you’re more upset than he is,” Spencer teases him, as the car holding his son draws away.

“We’re not upset, we’re pensive,” Hal snaps, before curling into a ball to sulk.

Spencer just smiles and goes back to cataloguing the boxes they’re packing.

 

 

Reid’s not really the type to make the kind of friends who help you move. At least, he hadn’t thought he was. He’s quickly finding out how wrong he’d been about that.

“Reid, do you colour coordinate your socks?” Prentiss asks suspiciously, peering into the box where he has them neatly lined up. “You wear odd socks; why do you even store them in pairs?”

He takes the box out of her hands and frowns at her. “To ensure that every sock receives an equal distribution of wear and tear, obviously.”

Sergio comes out from under the bed with dust coating his dark fur and twitching his whiskers. “Obviously,” he repeats, looking as close to laughing as a cat can get.

Penelope is his next trial. “Okay, where do you keep your modem and bits?” she asks, pulling a box out and carefully writing the word ‘tech goodies’ in glitter pen.

He pops his head up from where he’s carefully sorting books into boxes—by genre, date of publication, and the author’s political ideologies—to stare at her. Aureilo sniggers, turning to them and waiting for what he knows is going to follow. “I don’t have a modem,” Reid tells her.

Garcia reels backwards in horror, almost dropping her pen, and Tupelo warbles in alarm on her shoulder. “You… but how do you access the internet?” There’s a long silence in which every head in the room turns to face them, most managing to hide grins.

“I… don’t?” Reid says carefully, sensing that he’s treading on thin ice.

Garcia takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and seemingly calming herself before speaking again. “Okay,” she says finally, after a very pregnant pause has passed, before sadly reaching down and drawing two firm lines across the name of the box. “I swear to god, if you have some sort of time machine in here somewhere that brought you from whatever backwards—” Morgan wraps his arm around her and pulls her away, chuckling, as her calm begins to break.

“We’re getting wi-fi at the next place,” Aaron warns him, “because Prentiss and Rossi have already planned a housewarming, and I’m not letting Garcia in the door unless we have internet to placate her with.”

Reid nods, feeling as though he’s dodged a particularly colourful bullet.

 

 

Collecting Jack’s belongings from Haley’s home is a sombre affair. Closing the door behind them one final time feels like an end.

Hotch has to keep reminding himself that it’s also a beginning.

 

 

Hotch is hanging clothes in the wardrobe of the master bedroom when he hears JJ and Spencer’s voices filtering down the echoing hall to him from Jack’s room. Hal tilts her head, unashamedly listening. “You should get bunk beds when the boys are older,” JJ is saying, sounding cheerful as the clatter of Jack’s toy box rumbles through the floorboards.

“The boys?” Spencer sounds confused and slightly alarmed.

“Well, Henry needs somewhere to stay when he comes for sleepovers at Uncle Spence and Uncle Aaron’s, doesn’t he?”

Hotch makes a soft noise that would have embarrassed him had anyone other than Hal been there to hear it.

 

 

Rossi takes them out for what he calls ‘congratulations on moving in together you hopeless romantics’ drinks, and gets everyone unashamedly plastered. After vanishing with Aaron for half the night on some attempt to seduce one of the barmaids, and leaving Reid at the tender mercies of Prentiss and JJ, he reappears and deposits a listing Aaron onto the seat next to Reid. “He’s your problem now,” Rossi declares, vanishing again with a wide grin. Hal drags herself under the table and makes a strange, happy noise, nuzzling against Reid’s leg and closing her eyes. Aaron just groans and lets his head thump forward onto the table, squinting blearily at the swirl of the wood-grain.

“Few too many?” Reid tries to ask, feeling the words catch and tangle in his mouth and come out a garbled mess. He frowns at himself, before turning his glare onto the girls and the brightly coloured drinks they’ve been pressing on him all night. They both look away, humming innocently and looking entirely too sober for the number of empty bottles on the table.

Aaron just groans again.

“Home?” Aureilo pleads, popping his head up from where he and Sergio are a sprawled mass of entwined fur, Kailo hanging determinedly to his good ear. “Before we have to hitch Hal up like a sled dog and have her drag the both of you?”

Reid eyes Aaron, trying to work out the logistics of getting an arm around his shoulder and supporting the clearly insensate man while he isn’t even entirely sure of the ground beneath his own feet. “We may have to do that anyway,” he tells the hare glumly, but, by the expression on his dæmon’s face, his words haven’t improved any since the last time he’d attempted to talk.

“You get his left and I’ll get his right,” Emily cuts in, clearly taking pity on them. “And we really need to talk about your frankly pathetic ability to hold your liquor, Spencer.”

JJ laughs. “Oh no, I like it. At least he’s a cheap drunk, not like Morgan.”

“Idiots,” Aureilo grumbles, giving up on the lot of them.

 

 

Hotch has recovered by the time Spencer manages to half drag him up the front path and fiddle with the door key to their _home_. _Their home._ He repeats it twice and feels like laughing. He slouches back and enjoys the cool breeze on his face as his partner protests and drops the key twice, clearly a lot slower to lower his blood alcohol level than Hotch is. Aureilo watches with his ear held to the side, judging them both silently.

That doesn’t stop him from letting Spencer loop a warm arm around him and lead him into the echoing house; packing boxes and suitcases casting gloomy shadows that distort the dim hallway. He wraps his arms around the other man and pulls him in sharply, finding his lips with unerring accuracy and tasting the sweet traces of the alcohol he’d been drinking as he hungrily kisses him.

“Aaron… we’re in the hall,” Spencer slurs, listing against him and tilting his head back, revealing a delicious expanse of pale throat in an open invitation. “Drunk; in the hallway.” Hotch doesn’t reply, just presses against him and nips at that exposed skin—as delicious as expected—heading straight for the spot behind Spencer’s ear that will have him melting in his arms. He finds it and runs his tongue over it, breathing warmly on the cool skin, every part of him on fire. Spencer jerks in his grasp with a harsh groan, hips rocking forward and searching for friction seemingly unconsciously. “Aaron,” he complains. “There’s a doorknob in my back and you’re being a pain.”

Hotch chuckles against his throat, feeling him shiver. “Do you want me to stop?” He steps back, leaving Spencer alone and slumped invitingly against the door, looking ruffled and fantastically aroused in the faint light. “Alright then.”

He saunters away, grinning to himself even as his body aches to go back and hold his partner close again. Something crashes into him from behind and only his honed reflexes from years of training with Morgan stops them from hurtling to the ground, and he manages to land with some sort of dignity remaining. Spencer chokes back a laugh, holding a hand out to stop from overbalancing as Hotch rolls, ending up laying on his back on the hallway floor as the very ungainly, very drunk genius straddles him.

“You could have asked me to stop,” Hotch says, wriggling uncomfortably as his hipbones protest their mistreatment. “You didn’t have to tackle me.”

Spencer shrugs, settling down, and Hotch realizes that he’s been very neatly pinned to the floor. Probably the first time Spencer’s been able to flawlessly execute a manoeuvre like this since the academy. “Didn’t want to be gentle,” he replies. His voice is dark and husky and Hotch feels it deep in his bones.

The floor stops bothering Hotch abruptly as he looks up into the blown, aroused pupils of his boyfriend, and suddenly becomes aware of just how achingly hard they both are. “I don’t…” he stutters, right before Spencer cards one hand through his hair roughly and kisses him hard.

He kisses with desperation, their teeth clattering together, with one hand reaching down to fumble with Hotch’s belt. He hums with frustration as the belt refuses to give under his normally deft fingers. “I want,” he hisses, lowering his head and biting at Hotch’s neck. “You. Just you. Now.” His teeth meet the skin of Hotch’s collarbone, applying a firm pressure to his throat that has him trembling, desire hitting him in the gut like a punch and pooling between his hips. Hotch chokes back a pained moan and reaches down to help get his belt undone, lifting his hips so Spencer can wriggle his pants down enough to free him.

He glances down just as Spencer rocks against him, at some point having gotten his own pants undone, and Hotch makes what’s almost a whine as they slide against one another, his entire focus locked on the quick rhythm of Spencer’s hips. Spencer hisses air out of his mouth as he slips a hand down, pulling them together and tracing complex patterns over the head of Hotch’s cock with his fingertips.

Hotch wraps an arm around the base of his spine, pulling him tight and tilting his hips up; trying desperately to press himself flush against his partner’s body, holding it there in a long, tense moment of panting breathing and slamming heartbeats. Spencer fights him, sliding out of his grasp and slipping down his chest, dipping his head and swallowing Hotch down in one deft movement. One moment he’s wondering where Spencer has gone; the next he’s vividly aware of wet heat and a hungry mouth around him.

Hotch yelps and his hips jerk upright, jolting as though he’s been pressed to a live-wire. Spencer pushes him back with a quick hand on his stomach, stopping him from choking him, tongue tracing wicked patterns on the base of his shaft. Hotch looks down, and that’s a mistake because the sight of Spencer’s delicate mouth wrapped around him turns his brain to mush. He realizes as Spencer runs his lips along him, using his tongue to press his cock against the roof of his mouth that he’s just quietly chanting Spencer’s name over and over in a reverent kind of tone he’s never thought to use on anyone.

A sharp movement against his leg and Spencer twitches, a moan humming down his cock and making him groan. He can feel Spencer pressing against his leg urgently, still shockingly hard and clearly getting off on the increasingly frantic tone of Hotch’s voice. Two seconds later, it hits him that Spencer’s not moaning. He’s talking. It takes him another ten seconds to realize that he’s just repeating the same thing over and over again. _“I love you, I love you, I love you…”_

Hotch threads his fingers through the hair of the man he’s come to realize he can’t live without and tries to reply, his heart somehow managing to lodge itself in his throat and making speech impossible. Instead, he tightens his grip in warning, trying to pull Spencer away. Spencer’s eyes flicker up to his face, and the last thing Hotch sees before he feels himself beginning to pulse down his throat is the wide, desperate gleam to them.

Spencer looks up at him like he’s a man so hopelessly in love he can’t think.

A sharp inhale of breath as Spencer swallows, coughing slightly, and suddenly Hotch realizes that the man is shaking against him, one palm flat against himself as he finishes messily into his hand. Hotch pulls him up, ignoring his noise of protest, and kisses him with the taste of himself still thick in his partner’s mouth. “I love you too,” he mumbles into that taste. “You’ve become my all.”

Spencer doesn’t reply to that, just ducks his head as though suddenly shy and curls around him. Hotch holds him close; ignoring the stickiness of them both, or the way they’d both started trembling with the emotion of the moment. This is exactly what he’s always wanted, of that he has no doubt.

He’s finally found it.


	17. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be

Reid had never before been woken up by an excited two-year-old’s knees slamming into his ribs. He’s probably lucky that Aaron is paying attention, because his immediate reaction to being tackled is to roll to the side, taking with him the gleefully squealing Jack, and almost throwing him into a wall. Aaron reaches out a quick arm and scoops Jack up, as Reid tumbles off the bed with a startled yelp, Aureilo leaping out of the way in a flurry of tan fur.

“It’s Christmas,” Aaron tells him calmly as Jack makes a high-pitched squeal of excitement.

“Apparently,” Aureilo grumbles, reorganizing the ruffled fur on his face with his front paws. Reid lurches up and stares at them with a wide-eyed shock, blinking quickly to clear sleep from his eyes.

“Merry Christmas,” Aaron adds, smiling widely and almost laughing as Reid slips back onto the bed with a muffled groan and covers his head with a pillow.

 

 

Spencer has bought him a scarf. Hotch gapes at it oddly, knowing he’s missing something in the gift, and not wanting Reid to know he’s missing that thing. Hal leans her head over his shoulder and peers at it as well. “It’s a lovely colour,” she points out, tail thumping twice as she shoves her nose into the tissue paper lined box and snuffs. “Wonderfully soft.”

Spencer wanders back in from the kitchen holding three cups of hot chocolate and carefully manoeuvring past the couch and Christmas tree. Hotch hurriedly jumps up to help him, placing the box down on Hal’s forelegs. Aureilo bounds around the tree with Arelys following, both looking festive with colourful scarves trailing from them. Spencer had clearly taken out shares in a scarf factory this year, and had brought his presents accordingly.

“Did you buy everyone scarves?” Hotch teases him, leaning forward and kissing him while his hands are full of mugs. There’s a slight smear of hot chocolate foam on Spencer’s top lip, and he quickly runs his tongue over it, ignoring his noise of protest.

“No, just you and the dæmons. The dæmons because, well… I wanted to get Hal a book but she… doesn’t have hands.” Spencer looks frustrated for a moment, as though she’d done it on purpose. “And you because…” He stops and turns red, and Hotch’s curiosity is piqued.

“Scarves are intimate,” Aureilo finishes as Spencer is distracted by Jack unwrapping his gift of a large set of brightly coloured puzzles and moves over to help him unbox them. “And we’re sick of you getting to steal his every time it gets cold.”

Hotch frowns. “But I like stealing his.” He’s not going to admit to how much he likes it; every one of Spencer’s scarves smells wonderfully like Spencer and wearing them is very much like having Spencer himself tucked against him. It’s almost too embarrassing to admit to.

Sometimes, he forgets Spencer is a profiler too.

Aureilo shrugs and leans over to dip his muzzle into Spencer’s unguarded mug of chocolate, emerging with foamy whiskers and a satisfied expression. “We know. We want to be able to steal yours as well.”

Oh. Well. That’s alright then. Hotch picks up the scarf and smiles, running his hands over it devoutly. It will look wonderful on Spencer’s neck.

“You know, they make books on tape,” Hal cuts in, interrupting the warm moment. “My paws could work the buttons. At least then I won’t be bored while you’re doing paperwork, Aaron.” She rolls onto her side and glares at them as Spencer dissolves into giggles at the thought of Hal wearing earphones, Hotch barely choking back a laugh himself. “Idiots.”

Aureilo hops up to her and flops against her belly, yawning widely. “Well, that’s what you’ve got me for. I’ll read you as many books as you want,” he announces.

Hal licks his whiskers. “What would I do without you?” she says proudly.

Hotch catches Reid’s eye and there’s a warm spark to them that makes his heart thump. “What would we do indeed?” Hotch says.

 

 

“Where’s Mommy?” Jack asks once, face scrunching as he sits surrounded by the shredded remains of his wrappings.

Hotch freezes, the question expected but no less feared, and instead Spencer sits down next to Jack and pulls him into his lap. “Do you know how we told you that Mommy died and that meant she can’t be with you anymore, even though she really wants to be?” Spencer asks him softly, pulling him close with an ease that Hotch delights to see, letting the small boy tuck his head against his chest. “Well, she’s watching right now and she’s smiling because of how happy you are, even though she’s not here.”

Jack nods once, still looking uncertain, and Hotch has to bite back the sharp sting of pain that brings. “I love Mommy,” he says eventually. Spencer doesn’t reply, instead glancing up at Hotch with an inscrutable expression. Hotch nods once, letting his gratitude show in his face. Jack looks up, noting that Spencer’s attention isn’t on him anymore, and reaching up a small hand to brush it against the man’s chin. “I love you too,” Jack adds loudly, before clambering out of Spencer’s suddenly lax grasp and running off to his puzzle again.

Hotch watches as Spencer’s face turns from melancholic to shocked, and lastly to overawed, and knows that this is what it’s like to love someone.

 

 

New Year’s Eve. Hotch is a little drunk and Spencer is very enticing.

“Happy New Year’s,” Spencer murmurs, slipping into his arms and nipping cheekily at his lip. “Did you know Samoa in Polynesia is one of the first places to celebrate New Year’s, with Baker Island the last?”

“Why do you know that?” Hotch asks him, shaking his head slightly, fondly exasperated.

Spencer smirks. “It may come in handy one day. If Morgan ever lets me go back to another pub quiz with him, anyway.”

“He’s never letting you back.” Hotch laughs at the shattered expression on his boyfriend’s face, the sound leaving him easily. “You got him banned for cheating.”

Prentiss had been right, all those years ago. He does laugh more now.

 

 

Los Angeles and Hotch is driving while Reid tries to reach the rest of their team on the snarled phone lines.

“Oh great,” Reid breathes, dropping the phone in disgust. “The line cut out.”

Hotch drums his fingers on the steering wall, looking around at the thick traffic and the darkness of the surrounding city. “Morgan will wait for us at Kristin’s. He won’t go in without backup.”

Aureilo and Hal are silent in the backseat, the tension in the car palatable. “Will Spicer?” Hal asks softly, thinking of the desperation of a man facing danger to his child. She knows far too well what that kind of desperation could lead a man to do.

Reid meets Hotch’s eyes warily and Hotch tries not to let the apprehension he feels show.

 

 

Morgan isn’t there.

“What would cause Morgan to change his mind like that when he knows he can't tell us?” Hotch fumes, face darkening.

Reid closes his eyes for a second to move past the paralysing fear that always threatens to cripple him when one of his team is in danger.

“The unsub had Spicer's sister and daughter. Morgan knew he didn't have a lot of time,” Aureilo says calmly. Reid wonders what it says about him that the most composed part of him is a hare.

His brain kicks into gear again, catching up with the hare’s line of thought in a second. “Santa Monica; where he killed Spicer’s parents.”

Hotch turns on his heel and bolts for the exit, Reid moments behind. “Let’s go,” he calls back to Prentiss and Rossi, who sprint for their own car.

_Hang in there, Morgan. We’re coming._

 

 

Reid waits until the others clear the way before walking over to the bloodied and furious Morgan, Naemaria bristling at his knee. “Are you okay?” he asks him gently, recognising the darkness in his eyes intimately.

“What do you think?” Morgan snarls, turning on him. Naemaria’s hackles are up, crowding into Aureilo’s face. The hare doesn’t flinch, staring back at her unblinkingly. “I fucked up, Reid, and because of that Spicer is dead and that sick bastard has Ellie. Because of me! Do you have any idea what it feels like to be so damn _helpless_?”

Reid blinks once, slowly and bites at his lip. “Yes,” he replies softly, and something in Morgan gives way and his expression evens out. “We’re here for you, man. We’re always here for you.”

Morgan nods. Naemaria sighs and licks Aureilo once, a delicate unspoken apology. “I know. Help me bring her home?”

“Of course.”

 

 

There are parts of the job that Hotch hates, and one of them is standing in front of him watching with glum blue eyes. “JJ, the Pentagon? Really?” he asks, seeing her flinch.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” she replies quietly, looking down at the bullpen where their team are gathered. Emily and Morgan are leaning close together, hands moving quickly, the soft sounds of their bickering floating up to them. Reid is leaning back in his chair, watching with a carefully presented disinterested air. “It’s just…”

“It’s a big deal. A liaison for the department of defence—it’s a major promotion. Are you sure you don’t want this?”

“Hotch, I belong here.”

He hopes it’s going to be that easy.

 

 

“Is everything okay?” Reid’s hazel eyes are worried, darting from his face to JJ’s, a bottle of antacids clutched tightly in one hand. Hotch scans them quickly, something niggling at him worriedly at the sight of it, before dropping his gaze downwards again.

He flicks through the profile, not daring to look up into the other man’s face. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Strauss.”

He can’t say anything. It’s not his place. Besides, if he has anything to do with it, there’ll be nothing to tell. “Don’t, Reid.”

His partner hesitates for a long moment before nodding sharply and retreating, finding sanctuary from Hotch’s growing dark mood next to Rossi.

 

 

He doesn’t even have to ask her. One pleading look from him, and she crumples.

“I got a job offer from the Pentagon,” she admits, tucking a strand of long blonde hair back from her face and averting her eyes. “They’re really pushing for me to take it.”

“Oh.” A pit of ice sinks into his stomach, foreboding covering him like a cloud. It only adds to the familiar dull ache behind his eyes.

She shrugs. “I don’t want it, Spence. And Hotch is helping me, he says if I don’t want to go, I don’t have to.”

“What if he can’t stop it?” Reid feels like a traitor as soon as he says it, seeing her face drop.

“I have to believe he can.”

 

 

“We can’t lose her, Aaron.”

“Strauss thinks we're all replaceable. I went over her head to try to explain that we're not.”

He doesn’t tell any of them that it’s starting to feel inevitable.

 

 

JJ watches him walk towards her and smiles sadly. “When do I leave? The end of the week?” They both pretend that they can’t see the tears in her eyes, or the way Kailo’s wings droop as he flutters down to huddle against Hal’s ear.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers, and Hal shudders against his leg, composure almost broken.

She’s floored, and one tear escapes her tight control to slip down her face. “Hotch… How am I supposed to tell them I’m leaving when I don’t want to go?”

“I’m sorry.”

 

 

She leaves her exit interview on his desk, and he walks in to find Reid holding it. His eyes are locked on it even though they both know he’d memorized it in seconds. Hotch takes it from him gently and scans it. JJ’s careful handwriting looks back.

_I'm thankful for my years spent with this family, for everything we shared, every chance we had to grow. I'll take the best of them with me and lead by their example wherever I go. A friend told me to be honest with you, so here it goes. This isn't what I want, but I'll take the high road. Maybe it's because I look at everything as a lesson, or because I don't want to walk around angry, or maybe it's because I finally understand. There are things we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go._

“Why do we keep losing people?” Reid asks, and Hotch can see Gideon and Elle at his side like ghosts.

He can’t answer that.

 

 

JJ’s replacement is young; a trainee.

They took JJ and gave them a trainee in return. Spencer can’t think for the unfairness of it all. The team already feels broken, somehow shattered by the loss of their most important member. They’d taken for granted that she’d always be there, right up until she wasn’t anymore.

It’s not fair.

“Hi,” the trainee says, smiling brightly and flicking a wave of blonde hair behind her back. “I’m Ashley, Ashley Seaver.” Bright eyes peer at him from behind the hair, the flicker of a fluffy tail diving into her collar.

“Spencer Reid,” he introduces himself, smiling politely and biting back the irritation he feels. It’s not her fault.

When she moves away to where Morgan and Emily are watching, he catches Hotch’s gaze and notes how dark it is with a sinking feeling in his chest.

Things are changing.

 

 

“Want to do anything for your birthday?” Spencer asks him one day as the leaves begin to change. He’s tapping on his cell, absently wandering around the kitchen as Hotch heats a bowl of mushy green for Jack.

Poking suspiciously at the glop, he shrugs. “Not really. We’re on call anyway.”

Spencer’s eyes lift from the cell for a moment, before dropping back down. “Alright. JJ says hi.”

He smiles softly, tasting a minute amount of the odd substance and pulling a face. “How’s she going?”

A long pause. “She misses us.”

 

 

Reid lights the last candle and tilts his head to examine it. “It’s fine, Spencer,” Aureilo tells him sternly, hopping up onto a chair and examining the spread. “Hey, if you take the trash out he might not even be able to tell you used a store-bought chicken.”

“Shut up, Aureilo,” Reid mutters, carefully rearranging the tablecloth. It isn’t like him and Hotch never eat together, it’s just that it would be nice to have a quiet meal for his partner’s birthday…

“Oh,” says a startled voice, Aaron appearing in the doorway with his briefcase held loosely in one hand. “Spencer, you didn’t have to.”

Hal appears and pulls a delighted face at the meal that Spencer and his hare have prepared. “Shh, Aaron, you’ll discourage it,” she scolds him, bounding over and leaning her head on the table to gaze hungrily at the chicken.

“I just threw something together,” Reid says with a casual shrug, pushing the plate of beans closer to Aureilo. Jack hammers his fork on the table as Hotch leans and brushes his lips over his hair.

“Happy Birthday, Aaron,” Spencer adds as Hotch smiles into his son’s hair.

“Another year older, another year wiser,” Aaron grouses, pulling him into a hug and tucking his nose into his hair. “Apparently.”

“We went to the shop!” Jack crows, dropping peas on the floor around his chair while the two men seem distracted. “To buy chicken!”

Arelys sticks her head up, having hopped up on the chair next to Aureilo. Her nose barely reaches over the surface of the table, not having the larger hare’s length yet. “That’s s’posed to be a secret, Jack,” she says angrily, scrabbling to see. “Spence said it was a secret.”

Aaron shakes with laughter against him, and, in that moment, there isn’t a thing in the world that Reid would trade this for.

 

 

Emily and Morgan are out, which leaves Reid with Seaver. Which would have been fine, except Reid is about as at ease with unfamiliar young women as a rabbit is with a fox.

On her fourth attempt at beginning some sort of stilted conversation, they lapse into silence while Reid tries to make his paperwork draw out as long as possible. Ever the conversationalist, Aureilo tries to help. “Three down is ‘Theseus’,” he points out, standing up on his hind legs on Reid’s desk and peering over the partition between them. “As in ‘the Ship of Theseus’.”

Seaver freezes and stares at Aureilo like he’s started tap-dancing, her blue eyes wide with shock. “Dr. Reid, your dæmon is talking to me,” she stammers, clearly at a loss for what to do.

“He does that,” Sergio interrupts, hopping up onto the desk next to her elbow and licking a paw elegantly. “You get used to it eventually. The real trick is making him stop talking. If you can work that one out, let us know.”

Emily appears holding the bags with their lunches and smiling sheepishly. “We do things a little differently here,” she explains gently to the still-stunned looking probationary agent. “I guess after working together for so long, the boundaries blur a little.”

Seaver puts a hand up to her shoulder where her dæmon hides among her hair, still reserved around them. The most Reid has seen of it is a fluffy tail, dark button eyes and a quick flash of bright stripes. “That’s a… little odd,” she says eventually, dropping her hand down to rest on the desk. “Nice, I guess, but odd.” She smiles shakily at the hare, but doesn’t respond.

Reid tries not to take it personally, well used to people’s adverse reactions to his dæmon by now. After being with the team for so long, he’d just forgotten what it felt like to be different.

 

 

Hotch wakes up on the morning of Spencer’s twenty-ninth birthday to an empty bed and the sound of vomit splattering in the bathroom. He pads in behind his partner, finding him sprawled crablike on the floor with one arm thrown over the toilet bow and back heaving. Spencer glances up at him once, eyes narrowed against the glare, and Hotch’s heart sinks when he recognizes the old signs of a migraine. How long had Spencer been curled up in here in pain while he slept?

How long had he been hiding this?

“Do you need anything?” he asks softly, pushing the door shut so the light from the bedroom is filtered away from Spencer’s eyes.

Spencer shakes his head and buckles again, gagging violently. Hotch flinches as the gags turn to wracked coughs, bringing up nothing but bile. He slips out and closes the door behind him, heading downstairs to find the weak painkillers that are all Spencer will take. _Happy Birthday to you_ , he thinks glumly, finding Aureilo a shivering lump of fur under the blankets on the couch.

 

 

“Reid’s quiet,” Rossi murmurs to him on the jet one day. “Has been for a few weeks now.”

Hotch lowers his book. “He’s just tired,” he lies, scanning the sallow looking face of his partner.

Rossi rolls his eyes. “You know, the rule against intra-team profiling is really only a guide, right?” he asks. “Messy hair, untucked shirt, dishevelled appearance. He’s sick again, Aaron.”

“He’s fine,” Hotch snaps, voice sharper than intended. The headaches were beginning to linger for days at a time, leaving Reid listless and slow. “They’re just headaches.”

Eris’s claws squeak against the chair as her grip tightens. “Like when Aureilo was gone,” she says in a soft voice.

“But Aureilo’s here now,” Hotch says to her, swallowing back his worry. “He has been for almost a year now.”

Rossi shrugs and reaches a hand up to run his fingers over Eris’s chest, smoothing the feathers down. “Who knows how much damage him being separate for that long did?”

Hotch looks at his partner again with fresh eyes, and it’s his turn to feel sick.

 

 

Their fourth anniversary and, on the bright side, Reid doesn’t have a migraine. Unfortunately, they’re spending it on a case.

“Four years of us,” he whispers into Hotch’s ear that night when the others scatter to do various jobs, leaving them alone in the dimmed police station bent over geographical maps and the profile in turn. “Happy anniversary, Aaron.”

Hotch leans back, letting his usual carefully guarded professionalism down for a single moment. “Happy Anniversary, Spencer,” he says, brushing their lips together and pulling apart quickly when Morgan walks back in.

“Here’s to many more,” Morgan jokes, winking at them and sidling back out.

 

 

Hotch is starting to get the feeling that time is rushing by him unstoppably quickly, slipping out of his hands like water even as he tries to grasp it tightly. He knows that this is the happiest he’s ever been, and he clings to that. At night he lays in bed, trying to remember a time when Spencer didn’t lie sprawled next to him and fails. He knows that Spencer would be able to remember it perfectly, and he wonders if his partner misses that solitude.

Jack’s fourth birthday arrives and Hotch realizes his son is growing and changing without pause, only serving to illustrate the fluctuating seasons.

“Do you want to light a candle and talk to Mom?” he asks Jack that night as he tucks him in, face still red from the excitement of his day and breath smelling like mint and cake. “It’s been a while, and you can tell her all about your presents you got.”

“Can Spencer come too? And say hi to Mommy?” Jack requests sleepily after nodding, and Hotch smiles.

“Of course.”

 

 

A year after Haley’s death and Aaron takes Jack to her grave. It’s neat and tidy, tended to lovingly by Jessica, Aaron, and Haley’s father. Reid can’t help but watch them and think that they should have had the chance to be a family. If it wasn’t for Foyet, they would have had.

When Aaron leads Jack back to the car, Reid says he’ll be a minute and walks up to the headstone. Haley’s name over the delicate gold filigreed image of a bowing lynx. Reid stares at it and shivers, knowing how close he’d come to lying under a similar stone. How close they’d all come, at one time or another.

“Are you okay?” Aureilo asks, pressing against his leg.

“I thought you’d want to say something,” Reid says, swallowing back his own confusing emotions.

Aureilo falls quiet for a long moment before speaking. “He saved my life—our lives. They both did. I can’t ever repay them for that.”

The swish of a shoe on grass and Reid jumps when he realizes that Jessica has come up behind them, her feet as quiet on the dewy lawn as her lynx’s paws. “You already have,” she tells them, looking over to where Jack and Aaron wait. “Every moment you spend with Jack you’re repaying her.”

 

 

Christmas again.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Reid grumbles, sinking back into the chair and rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t remember Christmas being this exhausting.”

“You’ve just never spent it surrounded by children,” JJ teases him, watching Will chasing Henry and Jack around in the snow outside. “They make old men of us all.”

“Even the women,” Emily laughs, trying to hold a squirming Sergio down long enough to stick antlers to his head. Aureilo already wears a matching set proudly, earning him smart remarks about jackalopes from Eris.

“Thanks for coming today,” Aaron says, entering the room in the bright red woollen jumper decorated with dancing pine trees that Reid had happily presented him with. “We really appreciate it, JJ.”

She smiles. “Christmas is for family, Aaron. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here with mine.”


	18. Stay with us.

In the month after Christmas, Spencer’s headaches increase until Hotch is forced to recommend medical leave.

“You need to stay home and rest,” he tells him seriously, hovering in the doorway of the living room where a dull-eyed Spencer is sprawled with Jack sleeping in his arms. “I can get Jessica to take Jack while I work.”

“I never call in sick, Aaron,” Spencer says, a desperate, pleading tone to his voice. “If I stay home people are going to think there’s something really wrong with me.” Hotch doesn’t answer him but Spencer’s face falls slightly, and he knows that he can read the words left unsaid.

Maybe there really is something wrong with him.

 

 

“Where’s Pretty Boy?” Morgan asks, picking up his go-bag and scanning the entrance expectantly.

“Not coming,” Hotch says shortly.

Morgan doesn’t answer, but Rossi straightens slowly, his face worried.

 

 

He’s bent over the scattered files and squinting down at them, surrounded by a veritable sea of paperwork, when a shadow falls over him. He looks up to find Hal tilting her head and looking around the papers with a puzzled expression, Aaron hanging his coat up behind him.

“What’s this?” Aaron asks, scanning the floor.

“I’ve been emailing someone who’s been helping me with my headaches,” Reid murmurs, picking up a complicated sheet filled with chemical equations and holding it up to the light to study the information. “She’s was a geneticist, but she’s recently been studying daimoneurology. She’s in a unique position to be of significant use to us about this.”  

Aaron nods and Reid catches a flicker of hope on his face. “Fingers crossed then,” he says, voice steady, but the light doesn’t leave his eyes.

Reid smiles up at him and pulls Aaron’s laptop over, opening up the email tab and beginning to compose a reply.

 

 

“You haven’t had a headache this week,” Hotch points out one morning over breakfast as Spencer carefully brews coffee as though weaving a delicate spell.

“We’ve both been taking treatments for them,” Aureilo says, eyes locked hungrily on the pot of bubbling coffee. “Maeve suggested it; said that maybe I’m still triggering them even though Spencer is medicated. She’s fascinated by us.”

Hotch laughs, relief sinking deep into his bones at the renewed vigour the two are moving with. “Well, who can blame her?” he jokes, coming up behind Spencer and sliding his hands onto his hips. “You are both endlessly fascinating.”

 

 

“You feeling better, kiddo?” Rossi asks when he saunters in one morning and finds Reid back at his usual desk, tackling his momentous pile of paperwork with glee.

Reid beams up at him, his good mood infectious. “Never felt better.”

Rossi nods and looks him up and down, grinning. “You look good. Glad to see.”

As he walks away, Reid’s cell hums in his pocket to signal an email arriving, and he almost drops his pen in his haste to dive for it.

 

 

**Garcia – did you get the email I sent with those files you wanted?**

Hotch glances down at the text and sighs, having just sunk back into his chair with a book. The house is peaceful, with Spencer upstairs reading a bedtime story to Jack and night stealing over the yard outside. He reaches for his laptop, sitting half open on the other side of the couch from where Spencer had borrowed it earlier. Tapping his fingers impatiently on the case as it boots, he types his password in and frowns as the internet browser opens automatically. The cursor blinks at him. Spencer had been mid-email when Jack had called him away.

Hotch pans the mouse up to click out. His eyes catch the received email Spencer was about to answer and he pauses.

**_… The only intimate part of you I've seen is your brain when I studied the MRI you sent me. That's when I said, this is a guy I need to get to know…._ **

His brain takes a moment to respond. Hal sits up, eyes locked on the screen and brow furrowed, sensing his confusion. He scrolls, feeling a sliver of guilt worm into him, skimming over the short reply Spencer had been working on.

**_…. That’s really nice of you to say. I’m sorry I took so long to reply, I had a mountain of paperwork to catch up on. The treatment is working wonderfully, I don’t know what Aureilo and I would do without you!..._ **

He closes the laptop slowly and tries to swallow down the churning in his gut, ignoring Hal’s worried whine. He shouldn’t be surprised. It had only been a matter of time before Spencer saw him for the broken down old man he was, greying at the temples and with skin lined and worn.

He should have known this would happen.

He puts his head in his hands and waits for Spencer to return.

 

 

Reid clatters down the stairs with Aureilo at his heels and finds Aaron sitting in the living room where he’d left him, chalk-white with shock. He skids to a stop, heart missing a beat at the sight and his mind instantly racing. _Is he sick? Heart attack? A death? Oh godohgodohgod_.

“What’s happened?” Aureilo asks, sitting upright with wide eyes. Hal stares at them like they’re strangers, shrinking back into a huddled ball of black fur.

Aaron turns his head slowly to look at them and his eyes are empty, as though something he’s been dreading has finally come to pass. When he finally speaks, the words hit Reid like a hammer. “Are you in love with Maeve Donovan?”

 

 

The fight turns ugly quickly.

Hotch refuses to drop it. He stands and straightens his shoulders, an unconscious position to put himself in control of the argument. Reid is calm. Composed. Right up until something snaps in Hotch, and he finds himself striking for his partner’s weak points; words carefully aimed to hurt.

Hal and Aureilo watch with trembling bodies. They don’t say a word.

Hotch keeps going, pushing and pushing until he’s not sure why he’s being so vicious anymore, seeing Reid take a shocked step back, face darkening. _Point to me_ , he thinks savagely as the other man dips his head, hiding his expression behind a curtain of hair. He wants to hurt him, wants him to know the pain that he’d felt upon seeing those emails, the betrayal.

He doesn’t even recognise himself.

“I’m not in love with Maeve!” Reid shouts again, turning and pacing in a tight circle. “Fuck, Aaron, we’re just emailing! I’m not cheating on you! What the hell is your problem?”

“You are!” Hotch snarls, insides twisted into a heavy knot. He wants to believe him, wants to trust him, but he _knew_ that this was coming. How could Reid ever love someone like him when he has so much left to give to someone younger, smarter, just as brilliant? “How can you not see how it looks, Spencer? You were flirting with her! Maybe you’re not in love with her, but you’re halfway there!”

Reid shakes his head, mouth mulish. “Don’t tell me how I feel, Aaron. There’s only one person I’m in love with, and he’s currently being a Neanderthal in our living room.”

Hotch snorts and rolls his eyes. “Then how come you talk to her like you used to talk to me?” he says heavily, seeing Reid’s eyes widen in revelation, the dawning comprehension. “Yeah, it’s not the first time you’re the last one to work out your own emotions Reid, I practically had to draw you a fucking map.”

Reid closes his eyes and opens his mouth. Takes a deep breath to compose himself. Hotch realizes he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Reid calming them down and talking this out. He’s too angry.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he says coldly, and feels a bite of bitter triumph when Reid’s mouth snaps shut and he reels back like Hotch has punched him. Aureilo chatters with rage and Hotch watches silently as Reid’s fist clenches. There’s a moment where the slim man almost strikes him, and Hotch wants him to. _Do it. Do it!_

He turns and walks out instead.

Hotch tries to calm down as Reid’s footsteps echo overhead, anger draining as suddenly as it had come and leaving him feeling sick with guilt.

_What have I done?_

He snaps back to life and goes to follow Reid, meeting him on the stairs as the man comes back down, face blank. “Spencer, I…” he begins, but Reid shoulders past.

He leaves and takes a part of Aaron with him.

 

 

Reid goes to JJ’s because he has nowhere else.

“Spence?” she asks, opening the door and finding him standing there.

He tries to talk and fails, having no words for anything that had happened that night. “Can I stay?” he says finally, shrinking in defeat.

She steps forward, wrapping her arms around him and letting him slump forward into her embrace. “Of course,” she murmurs into his ears, smelling like perfume and baby powder and comfort. She smells nothing like Hotch or the life they share, and that’s a relief. “Always.”

 

 

Hotch goes to work the next day feeling drained. Nausea wars with the exhaustion brought on from a night of pacing the house and mulling desperately over their fight. No matter what way he looks at it, he knows he’s fucked up. He’d panicked. He’d seen Reid walking away from him, and he’d tried to strike first to spare himself the pain. The irony is, now he’s calmed down, he _does_ believe Reid. Maybe he always had. And his actions had led to Reid leaving anyway.

_I’ll apologise, I’ll tell him why I lost my head, how much he means to me_ , he chants silently in his head, face a careful mask as he walks into the bullpen. _He’ll understand, he knows what an idiot I can be._

Reid is at his desk scribbling on a notepad. His nose is so close to the paper that it’s almost touching. Hotch pauses for a moment, wondering if he should call him into his office and do it now, knowing it isn’t really a conversation for work.

Reid doesn’t look up and eventually Hotch moves on, walking up the stairs with a heavy heart.

 

 

The rest of the team pick up on it instantly. All eyes lock on Hotch the moment he walks into the room and brings with him a brooding, melancholy air.

Reid’s a profiler too, and he can see the guilt and shame battling for dominance on Hotch’s features; the misery that he’s obviously been mulling over all night. Reid looks away, biting at his lip, stomach clenching with sympathetic pain.

He’s not angry anymore, not really. He had to look at it from Aaron’s point of view—the emails did look suspicious. Reid had never tried to hide them or anything. He hadn’t realized how intimate he’d gotten so fast with Maeve, but re-reading them throughout the sleepless night, he’d been horrified to realize how cutting they would have been for Hotch to skim.

They’ll apologise, and move past this. Nothing has been said that isn’t true, they can move past this.

_“What the hell is wrong with you?”_

_Everything,_ he thinks glumly. Maybe Hotch had been wrong about one thing. There’s no way Maeve is at all interested in him. Look at what a mess he makes of good things.

 

 

He should have known that the team would pick up on the tension between him and Reid instantly, even when they communicate as usual in order to do their jobs. Their personal life has never come between them at work before, and they have no intention upon letting it happen now.

“What do you think’s going on with Hotch and Reid?” he hears Morgan asking Emily around lunchtime.

“Hmm?” Emily replies, lifting her head and blinking sleepily, looking distracted. “What’s happening between them?”

Well, maybe some of the team have picked up on it.

Hotch frowns and sits up at his desk, eyeing Emily carefully and noting the dark shadows under her eyes. Apparently, he and Reid aren’t the only ones pulling all-nighters.

 

 

“Alright, what did you do?” Rossi says heavily, dropping into the chair opposite and glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

Hotch lowers his pen carefully and rubs his eyes. “Something unforgivable.”

 

 

Garcia corners him as he’s coming out the bathroom and hugs him; charms and bracelets rattling against his back. “We love you, you know that, don’t you, my brilliant boy?” she says warmly, brushing her lips against his cheek.

He smiles at her, the lingering pain lifting for a moment in the face of her friendship. “How could I not?”

She nods, brightening. “So, are you going to tell us what happened? Or do we have to guess from the complex range of emotions on Hotch’s face?”

“Nothing we can’t move past, Garcia. Don’t worry.”

 

 

A quiet knock on the door and he has to swallow sharply when he looks up to find Reid’s familiar shape silhouetted in the doorway. He opens his mouth to apologise but Reid beats him to it. “Something’s up with Emily.”

If it was anyone else, Hotch would assume that he’s trying to worm his way out of a difficult conversation. Reid, however, is very likely just prioritising as always. Putting his worries about his friend in front of his own needs.

“I saw. She’s tired, distracted by something,” he says. Hal snaps to attention by his side, eyes locked on the diminutive form of Aureilo. “She’ll come to us if she needs help, Reid. We can’t force her.”

He nods, stepping into the room and closing the door quietly. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice husky. “Those emails—I should have realized how they would look. It’s just… there’s no excuse, I know that, but it was so thrilling to have someone to talk to on an equal intellectual level that I guess I just lost myself.”

Hotch pushes away the stab of hurt at the confirmation that Reid _had_ been seeking something more from the relationship that Hotch can’t give him. “It’s not your place to apologise, I was out of line,” he says. “I trust you, Spencer. I trust you with my life, my son, and my heart. I reacted out of fear of losing you, and it made me thoughtless.”

Aureilo makes a strange noise and almost hurtles into Hal as though the two of them are inexorably drawn together and they’d been holding themselves apart with great difficulty waiting for this moment. Hal whines with relief and lowers her muzzle, running it all over Aureilo’s back and sides and breathing in his scent longingly.

“Can we not ever do that again?” Reid asks after a long time has passed where the two of them watch their dæmons reunite. “I don’t ever want to feel that… lost again.”

Hotch thinks of how it felt watching the door close behind Reid, as though he’d given something up that was infinitely precious and impossible to recover, and how terrifyingly permanent it had felt.

“Never again,” Hal answers for him, looking up with dark eyes that hold the promise in them.

 

 

A month passes from the fight and things ease into comfortable normality again at home. Spencer doesn’t stop emailing Maeve, but he’s careful about the content of the emails and there’s an unspoken agreement between him and Hotch that he can read what’s sent. Hotch never does, but that’s only because he knows he needs to rebuild the trust he’d broken that night.

“Emily’s late,” Reid says sharply one morning when Hotch walks into the conference room. “She’s never late.”

A quick glance up at the clock, and Hotch frowns. “Give her another fifteen minutes and then call her. Maybe traffic is bad.”

Reid jiggles in his seat, nervous energy practically spilling out of him. “It’s not, not the way she takes. I know I already checked all the traffic reports and the way she drives has the lowest percentage of congestion at this time of the morn—”

Hotch quiets him with a glance. “Fifteen minutes, then call.”

She’s there in ten and every one of them notice the hesitation before she tells them where she’s been, the slight flicker of her eyes indicating a lie. None of them say anything because it isn’t their business.

Aureilo tries to cuddle up to Sergio and the cat pulls away, perching instead on the windowsill where the hare can’t reach him, his back to the room.

Hotch hopes they’re not losing another team member.

 

 

“She’s going to leave, isn’t she?” Reid stares at him, gaze focused and intent in a way it rarely is, fear playing across his narrow features. “She’s unfocused, tired, side-tracked. Elle was like this too, before she left. Was Gideon?”

Hotch puts a hand on his arm, feeling him tremble under his touch. “Prentiss isn’t Elle. Elle was angry.” He doesn’t say anything about Gideon. He can’t reopen that wound.

Reid’s eyes skitter everywhere but him. “But she still might leave. She won’t talk to me. She _always_ talks to me, about everything! Why won’t she let me help her?”

Hotch shrugs helplessly, unable to answer.

 

 

Hotch appears in the bullpen, interrupting a sneaky game of snap between him and Morgan. Reid covers the cards quickly, guiltily smiling up at his boss and trying not to let his gaze slip over to the quiet shape of Prentiss bent over her desk.

“Strauss needs to see me about the budget,” Hotch says, running one hand through his hair and looking as close to harassed as he can look. “Jack needs to be picked up from day-care at four. Can you go?”

Reid blinks in surprise, it being the last request he’d expected. “Of course,” he answers, reaching for his coat and grinning. “We’ll meet you at home.”

What can possibly go wrong?

 

 

Any question of whether Reid knows Jack is quickly answered when the boy looks up to see him in the doorway and instantly leaps to his feet and throws himself into the tall man’s arms.

“Hello,” one of the cheerful looking carers says upon spotting them. “You’re here for Jack Hotchner? Are you on the approved pick-up list?”

Reid nods, unconsciously profiling the woman. Hen dæmon, friendly, two kids of her own. Loves her job. “I’m Dr. Reid. SSA Hotchner called about me picking Jack up.”

She scans the computer before nodding brightly and passing Jack’s bag over, two rolled up paintings jammed in the top. “Of course, of course. Well, clearly Jack knows you!” She smiles at Jack now, face dimpling pleasantly. “Is this your friend, Jack?”

Jack laughs, his breath warm and fruity on Reid’s face. “No, silly,” he says, wrapping sticky arms around Reid’s neck. “He’s my Daddy.”

Reid forgets how to breathe.

 

 

Hotch walks in to find Spencer wandering around the kitchen, looking shell-shocked.

“Are you okay?” he asks cautiously, peering around for signs of Jack.

Spencer blinks at him, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed, as though he’s been fighting back strong emotions all night. “He called me Daddy,” he whispers, almost disbelievingly. “He told the carer I’m his daddy, Aaron.”

Hotch can’t hide the wide smile that sneaks onto his face, a rush of something hot and fierce punching into his belly. _Good boy, Jack_ , he thinks as a semi-overwhelmed Aureilo is comforted by a delighted Hal.

 

 

Ian Doyle.

Yet another name that Reid will never forget, burned into his mind and burned into his soul. Another name on the list of those who have taken things that are precious to him.

Tobias Hankel took a part of him. The Spencer Reid that left his shack was not the Spencer Reid that had entered it, and never would be again.

Randall Garner took Elle, or at least the part of her that believed in their work.

Frank Breifkopf took Gideon.

George Foyet took Haley; almost taking Jack and Aureilo and Spencer along with them. Almost taking everything.

And, now, Doyle.

He came and took with him one of the few things Reid doesn’t know how to live without.

 

 

Hotch walks to Emily’s desk and looks down. Her badge, her gun.

She’s gone.

She’s run to protect them.

 

 

Morgan is shouting as though his heart is breaking. Desperate. Frantic. Aureilo runs and Reid can’t keep up, but he doesn’t try. He slows. He knows, no matter how fast he runs, he won’t get there in time; can already feel the numb horror washing over him from his dæmon.

Hotch overtakes him and Reid almost stops, heart twisting and threatening to bring him to his knees. If he stops, if he doesn’t go in there to where Morgan is crying out, then Emily can stay alive just that little bit longer.

Just a little bit longer.

Just enough to say goodbye.

 

 

Hotch finds Morgan trying to hold Emily’s life inside her, and when he looks up to meet his boss’s gaze, his eyes are filled with all the horrors of their work. Not just the things they see, but the things they lose. Their innocence, their faith, their lives.

Their friends.

“Help is on the way,” Hotch says, not sure if he’s talking to Emily or Morgan or the quietly assembled dæmons standing around the bloodied Sergio in a tight circle and whispering. If he doesn’t focus, their voices are like the rustle of leaves, anchoring him to this reality of waiting for the ambulance to arrive while their friend dies because they _weren’t fucking quick enough_.

“Stay with us.” Hal; voice low and serious, intent. Towering over the panting cat, a steady beacon.

Aureilo; trembling against Sergio’s side with his tattered ear a symbol of his own refusal to lie down and let death take him. “We love you.”

“Let us go,” whines Sergio and Naemaria shakes her head so forcefully her entire body shudders.

“We are so proud of you,” she says, short muzzle brushing against the cat’s whiskers. “So, stay.”

Hotch watches them and waits, and silently prays that it will be enough.

 

 

JJ beats them to the hospital, and when she walks towards Hotch, he already knows what she’s going to say. “We need to do this,” he says, steeling himself for what’s to come. “It’s the only way to keep her safe.”

Because he can’t do that again, he can’t watch her bleed out and be helpless to stop it, as their souls desperately try to cling on to her. None of them are ready to let go.

“Do we tell the team?” JJ asks him, and he closes his eyes and feels something inside him tear loose and leave a bloody void. There’s a cost to this. There’s always a cost to this.

The cost of Emily’s life is his heart.

“No.”

“Spence…?”

“No.”

He’s had four years. If this goes wrong, those four years are enough. He knows how to be alone.

He’ll hold the memory of them forever, no matter what happens.

 

 

JJ walks into the room and Reid stands to meet her. In her face is the truth of the nightmare they’ve found themselves in.

Stopping didn’t save her.

“She never made it off the table.”

Aureilo cries out, just once, and Reid wonders if there’s a physical pain to match the agony those words bring. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

His gaze meets Aaron’s over JJ’s shoulder and the man is wrecked. There’s something final in his face, something ruined and cold and it breaks what’s left of Reid’s resolve.

Echoes of past words.

_“Sometimes we don’t.”_


	19. I don’t want to hurt anymore.

Spencer is broken like Hotch has never seen him before.

The funeral is on an excessively bright day, the sun beaming down on them relentlessly. Spencer dresses in mourning black as he bears the weighted coffin. Hotch watches his face and sees a shadow in familiar hazel eyes that whispers of Hankel and Gideon and a pain so fierce it burns.

Jack cries because he doesn’t understand what’s going on and why everyone is sad around him. He reaches for Spencer with arms that have never been denied before. Spencer looks at him blankly, and walks away.

His team is lost in a sea of grief, and Hotch doesn’t know how to call them back to safe harbour.

 

 

Reid remembers everything. It’s his gift and his curse. Yet, the only thing he remembers from the day they buried her is the heavy feel of a gold coin in his hand and watching the carved cat on one side spin endlessly in the air as he drops it.

It had missed the coffin and slipped down the side. Reid had stared after it, waiting for the dull thump that had never come.

It’s the one last thing he’d failed to give her.

 

 

Jack is exhausted that night from angry tears, coughing and flushed with an oncoming illness augmented by his bad mood. Hotch spends an hour coaxing him to sleep. He’s still dressed in the clothes he wore to her funeral. He fancies he can smell the thick musk of earth on his sleeves. It’s a nice change from the stink of lies that he feels must cover him like a fog.

Finally, his son falls asleep and he closes the bedroom door quietly behind him and pads up the hallway with Hal a shadow at his side. Spencer is sitting on the bed in pyjama pants and nothing else and his head hangs low on hunched shoulders. Aureilo is in his lap, dull-eyed and staring.

This is the price they’re paying.

Hotch changes without a word and slides into bed. He should hold his partner, pull him close and comfort him. Tell him it’s going to be okay, that this too will pass.

What’s a few more lies?

He closes his eyes and pretends not to know how long Spencer sits there as though frozen. Going to him feels far too much like another betrayal.

 

 

Aaron avoids him. Reid doesn’t know why. He can’t bring his mind to process the reasoning behind it, can’t think past the heavy mist of misery that has settled over him. It’s a thick blanket of grief, and he’s being crushed under its weight.

No matter where he goes, she’s there. At the grocery store, she’s reaching up for an item off the top shelf, her hair a curtain over her face. At work, she’s an empty chair waiting to be filled, her mug still sitting on her desk. At home, she’s a borrowed book from her own library, cover falling open easily to a favourite passage.

_“We'd been apart so long—I'd been dead so long,” she said in English. “I thought surely you'd built a new life, with no room in it for me. I'd hoped that.”_

_“My life is nothing but room for you." I said. "It could never be filled by anyone but you.”_

There’s a doodled smiley face next to the passage, and Reid stares at it for an impossibly long time until the image feels burned into his retinas. He closes the book and puts it down gently, wishing he could close his memories as easily.

Aaron fails to meet his eyes and Reid is alone.

 

 

Reid doesn’t know if he can do this anymore. He finds himself standing in the bathroom of a police department in god knows where, staring into hollow eyes and wondering if this is what it feels like to go mad.

“We’re not crazy,” Aureilo says quietly. “I would know. I’ve told you before, I’ll warn us if it happens. If we start to get like Mom.”

Reid shudders and his mouth burns as though he’s been vomiting. “Maybe that’s why Aaron is ignoring us,” he says. “Because he can tell we’re not the same.”

A sigh. “None of us are the same. Not without her.”

Not ever again.

 

 

That night in the hotel, Reid comes to his room, knuckles rapping softly against an open door. Hotch has never turned a team member away, but he knows as soon as he looks at him that Reid isn’t here as part of his team. They don’t do this on cases, not ever.

He wants to allow it this one time. He wants to bring his hands up to the new lines on Reid’s face and smooth them away, see if he can make him forget for just a moment that his world is missing a friend. See if he can coax back a smile.

Reid opens his mouth to talk and says nothing, looking lost and older than Hotch has ever seen him.

If he goes to him, he’s essentially admitting his guilt. Letting him have this moment although they’d firmly decided not to do so ever, would be almost like standing up and shouting, “I lied about Emily’s death!”

Aureilo hops into the room and stretches his nose to brush it against Hal’s muzzle. Hal turns away and looks at Hotch pleadingly, and when he looks back they’re both gone. He closes the door and presses his forehead against it, holding back the lump in his throat.

“We’re hurting them,” Hal moans, shaking with the horror of what she’d done. “We can go to them; they won’t be able to tell.”

He wishes it was as easy as that. “We can’t risk them realizing.”

“We can’t risk losing them, Aaron.”

But they have to.

 

 

He’s slipping. Morgan sees his distress easily, as though Reid had stood in front of him and screamed it into his face. He tries to deflect, to turn the conversation back to the case and away from the memory of Hal’s disinterest in Aureilo: “You know, my mom has schizophrenia. There are many different types. Catatonic, disorganized. Just because someone suffers from inability to organize their thoughts or they can't bathe or dress themselves, it doesn’t mean they’d stab someone in the chest thirty times post-mortem.”

_Inability to order their thoughts._ Emily in the bullpen, Emily brushing against him on the jet. A laugh. A smile. A black cat with green eyes and a twitching tail. Disorganized, chaotic. Overwhelming him.

“Reid?”

He snaps back to attention and Morgan is watching with wide eyes, Naemaria standing with her large paws on the table to observe them beside him. “They’re missing a variable.”

Morgan shakes his head slowly. “Okay, listen to me. I know this is a scary age for you. It’s when schizophrenic breaks happen. Have you talked to anyone?”

_A history of psychologically traumatic events, and the recent experience of a stressful event, can both contribute to the development of psychosis._ Reid blinks the knowledge away, trying to shove it back in the box of things he’s trying not to dwell on. It’s a battered box, bending out at the sides and littered with a single word: _Emily._  

The word is a whisper. The box buckles under the weight. It distorts it, hiding some of the words. Not all of them though.

_Lauren Reynolds is dead._

“Not Hotch?” Reid stares at the other man. With all language available to him, there’s no way he can voice the gulf that yawns between him and Aaron. Morgan takes a step forward, and Reid can practically taste the anxiety rolling off of him. Aureilo presses against the heels of his feet, stopping him from backing away. “Come on, kid, you gotta cut yourself some slack. You're depressed about Prentiss, and I get it—we all are. Reid, I miss her every day. But if your mind was splitting, do you really think you'd be able to figure out that this team is missing a variable? Now you just need to prove it.”

_Administration, or sometimes withdrawal, of a large number of medications may provoke psychotic symptoms._

He wants release from this.

“Okay,” he whispers, shoving that away as well. The box holds. _Deaddeaddead._

Morgan grins. “The moment you’re wandering around the streets aimlessly, that’s when I'll be concerned about you.”

Reid’s not wandering, but he is aimless.

He wonders if anyone can tell.

 

 

He enters the house with Reid beside him and, for the first time since Doyle, they’re focused and in sync. It’s some comfort to know they can still do this, still work beside each other, even if away from the workplace they’re drowning in everything left unsaid.

Reid is trying to talk Ben down and he’s calm and controlled. Hotch stays back, his gun locked on the struggling teen, watching his dæmon flicker anxiously. It doesn’t settle on a single shape, not once, instead choosing grotesque mixes of animals, seemingly unable to settle its form. A lizard tail thrashes on a bird’s body, canine jaws gaping, before shifting and morphing again. Hotch looks back up at the boy, feeling ill.

The knife wavers. “Are you sure that will work?”

Reid says something in a soothing voice, takes a single step forward, and Hotch has an instant to react.

Ben lunges with the knife aimed at Reid’s neck and Hotch fires. Ben falls and Reid looks down at him with an oddly disappointed expression completely out of place in this context. Hotch wonders what he’s seeing.

“We need an ambulance,” he says coolly to Reid, moving up to kick the knife away. Reid’s eyes dart up and he looks at Hotch like he’s a stranger.

Maybe he is. He certainly doesn’t know himself anymore.

 

 

Reid doesn’t go home that night. Instead, he goes to JJ’s and cries on her shoulder. If she asks, he’ll tell her he had a fight with Aaron. It’s basically the truth.

He wishes it was. It would make things make sense.

He won’t tell her the real truth. He won’t tell her that he’s there because he’s scared that he wants too much.

She doesn’t ask.

 

 

Reid doesn’t come home one night, and it’s almost a relief. Hotch does him the courtesy of not asking where he went when he walks into work the next day and finds that Reid has beaten him in. It’s the least he can do for him.

Aureilo and Hal don’t make eye contact, and none of them look at the wall where Emily smiles back at them.

 

 

“Hotch is doing the grief assessments for us.”

Reid pauses with the forkful of noodles held close to his open mouth. He lowers it slowly, knowing that he won’t be able to taste it anyway. “Is that… allowed?”

Rossi shrugs, mouth twisting slightly. “Probably not. Want me to sit in on yours? I’m assuming Strauss doesn’t want the bigwigs up top to know about you and Hotch, so she didn’t kick up a fuss when he requested to do it.”

He _requested_ it. Reid feels hope cut through the misery. “No thanks,” he says, scooping the noodles up again and swallowing them quickly. Chicken burns his throat and settles heavily in his stomach. He welcomes the discomfort. “We’ll be fine.”

 

 

Morgan is angry.

“Yeah, sometimes I feel like I want to quit my job and spend my time chasing down the son of a bitch who killed Emily. You're damn right, I'm angry.”

It’s a reminder that Doyle is still out there.  It’s a reminder that his team is still alive, and still fighting. It’s good, it’s healing.

“She was my friend,” Derek says. “I lost my friend right in front of me. And I'm supposed to go on like nothing happened?”

It still hurts.

 

 

He falls into an odd sort of routine. Finish work, drive around aimlessly, end up at JJ’s when the temptation becomes too much. Cry. Return home. Continue existing in the same space as Hotch without sharing their lives. Jack ties them together still, and it’s through him that Reid finally begins to see an end to the infinite grief. He doesn’t know what was lost; all he knows is that there’s days to be lived, things to be excited about, and so much to learn. Reid finds himself walking towards the sound of Jack laughing as soon as he gets home, finding comfort in the smile that never wavers on the child’s face.

Hotch relaxes as well around Jack. One day, he sits next to them as Reid helps the boy with a puzzle and lays a warm hand on Reid’s leg. It’s the beginning of something, Reid’s sure of it.

He finds it easier to close the box. Maybe even one day he’ll manage to scratch out the words.

_Lauren Reynolds is dead._

 

 

Garcia is hopeful.

“We’re a family, and it's important that families talk, and holding it in will just make this sick, sad feeling of awfulness more awful. Right?”

He wonders if he’s ever told her just how clever she is. She’s possibly the cleverest of them all.

Including Reid.

“I’ll talk, but I don't want to talk about her being gone. Can I talk about how she made me smile?”

“Of course.”

 

 

They get better. They have sex again. The first time since Emily died is awkward and fumbling, and Reid’s never felt this out of sync with Hotch before. The second time is better, and he manages to get them both off, panting and sweating and still dissatisfied. The third time is good, frighteningly so, and it’s because Hotch is needy and rough. His breath is laced with whisky and his eyes are shadowed. He comes to Reid in the dark and Reid lets him because there’s something desperate in the hands pushing him roughly down into the sheets.

After that, every time is the same. Reid doesn’t tell him to stop because he needs this too, and he can’t admit how much a small part of him enjoys it. It’s not healthy, not really. They don’t look each other in the eye when they’re done and there’s no gentle touches to remind each other what it means in the end. Hotch’s breath smells of alcohol, and Reid reeks of loneliness. Their dæmons sleep apart.

Reid bruises easily.

Hotch drinks more. Not a huge amount, nothing that Reid would normally even worry about, but it’s noticeable that he’s always drunk when they’re together.

He makes a point to wait until Hotch falls asleep every night before rolling over and pressing his lips to the other man’s, and whispering _I love you_ into his slack mouth. It’s still true. He can’t imagine that fluctuating, despite this. Sometimes, the words change, on the nights when Reid feels the misery stealing back over him. On those nights, the words fall out of his mouth unbidden, but no less intense. _“Lauren Reynolds is dead.”_

Saying it out loud helps, for some reason.

 

 

Reid is haunted.

“It's like if we can’t keep each other safe, then why are we even doing any of this? It’s… sometimes, I think, maybe… maybe Gideon was right, you know, maybe… maybe it’s just not worth it.”

How is he supposed to answer that when it’s his fault?

He can see Reid standing at the start of Gideon’s path, and it terrifies him.

 

 

“Hal hasn’t talked to me since she died,” Aureilo says one day as Reid stops the car at the lights and waits impatiently. It’s a confession.

It’s also a question. “I know.” He knows that just as much as he knows that there’s something being hidden from him, something that Hotch is desperately trying to keep from his sight, and is willing to destroy everything to do so.

“He’s pulling away from us.”

He knows that too. Knows it in the bruises on his hips, the silence at the dinner table. Knows it in the only way they can connect is over a case, or over the child that they both call their son.

Reid loves Hotch, and he loves Jack; he loves them both with an intensity that’s blinding. The idea of losing them both is tantalizingly close and infinitely frightening. He’s so close to losing it all after having gained so much. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong to deserve this.

Except, be himself. In his entirety. Maybe this is just his due.

He considers his choices as the lights turn green and the cars behind him lean on their horns angrily. Right is JJ’s.

Left is oblivion.

Aureilo is his conscience, he always has been. Firm and steady, and everything he struggles to be. The parts of himself he hides because it’s easier to be quiet and withdrawn, until he doesn’t know how to be those things anymore.

Aureilo can be reckless. “I don’t want to hurt anymore,” the hare says in a voice that cracks, and looks away with his one good ear held low.

Reid turns left.

 

 

Rossi is steady. “How are you holding up?” His eyes are as keen as always, seeing straight through everything that Hotch tries to hide from him, and Eris examines Hal just as sharply. Between them they see it all. The slight tremor of his fingers as he reaches for his mug, the dullness to Hal’s fur.

The silence between them all. Hal doesn’t have much to say anymore. None of them do.

“This isn’t my assessment.”

Rossi shrugs. “I’ve always had trouble letting people in. I guess I’ve come to realize that I’m more married to this team than I ever was to my three ex-wives.” He pauses, and Hotch prepares. “What we’ve got here, it’s good. What you have is good. Don’t let that slip away because you’re preoccupied with something else, Hotch, because in the end that thing won’t matter, and he will.”

“And if I can’t stop it?”

“Then you’re not fighting hard enough.”


	20. It ends.

It begins like this: a man with wild hair and a mind full of facts walks into Aaron’s life and takes up all the room in his head. There are lectures about seals and the history of chalk; there’s coffee and sex and laughter. It’s not lonely.

It becomes so that, when Aaron pictures a wolf, he sees a hare running alongside and two men watching their son graduate together.

It’s Aaron Hotchner learning to know what he wants and Spencer Reid learning to be cherished.

 

 

Jack is laughing, smeared with cereal and running around the kitchen. He yells excitedly and dives between Spencer’s legs as the man absently brews himself a coffee. His shoulder bag leans against the door ready to be scooped up in a flustered hurry when he inevitably realizes he’s almost running late. Hotch watches from over his own coffee, eyes flicking up just in time to see Jack reach for the bag with a sticky hand.

Spencer shouts; it’s not his usual breathy shout, half edged with laugher. Instead, he’s angry and frightened and Jack pulls away. There’s tears and a snotty nose being rubbed on the knee of his work trousers as his son shakes against him, Spencer watching with a chalk-white complexion and guilt seeping from every pore.

Spencer has never yelled at Jack before, not once. Not even when the boy had tried to draw in a book that was described after as, “Probably really expensive, I guess.”

Spencer apologises quickly, but he never looks at the bag, and Hotch can’t look anywhere but. Hal bristles at Aureilo, who trembles away. Hotch knows.

He knows and he can tell that Spencer knows he knows, but neither says anything and the silence speaks volumes.

 

 

The silence continues throughout the work day. It chokes Reid until he wonders if anyone will notice if he just curls up under his desk and lets the air be taken from him. Aaron knows. He knows about the left turn Reid made. He knows how weak a man he is.

He knows about the pills that were all Reid could get at short notice. He hasn’t taken any, but he knows he will. He wouldn’t have gotten them otherwise.

He knows, but he doesn’t say anything, and Reid wonders when the silence is going to break.

 

 

He goes to her grave after the work day ends. The new grass is just peeking up through raw earth and feels his shoe sink into it, bringing him ever so slightly closer to her. The cat on her headstone is carved with his neck arched cockily, paw lifted as though he’s about to swat at something. A shoelace perhaps. He remembers that, the sudden shock of sharp claws grabbing at his shoes from under the desk. A low snigger when his twitching would scoot the chair back into an intern hurrying past with an armful of files.

Or maybe he’s reaching for a friend. A paw held out in friendship to a battered hare, not much to look at but with a heart that aches. When Reid closes his eyes, he can see them, the cat and the hare curled together.

When he opens them, there’s only the hare and the burning stars above.

 

 

Hotch considers taking Jack to Jessica’s to avoid the conversation he can feel looming, but he can’t stand to explain why. Instead, he gets in the car with Jack strapped securely in the back, their bags in the trunk, and drives wherever his conscience guides him. Hal sits with her nose out the window, eyes sad.

Rossi is standing out the front of his house when Hotch pulls up and Hotch has no idea how he knew. Maybe Reid found the missing clothes, enough for a week, maybe he called him. Maybe Eris heard the car.

Maybe Hotch isn’t as difficult to profile as he thinks he is.

“Dave…” Hotch murmurs quietly to his friend, trying not to let his voice beg. _Don’t ask, please don’t ask. Just let us stay and don’t ask because I can’t tell you._

“This is a mistake,” Rossi replies shortly to him, before grabbing Jack and tipping him upside-down while the boy squeals. “Your dad is a silly bugger, Jack.”

“Silly bugger!” Jack repeats, and Hal lets out a mournful whine.

 

 

Jack’s bag is missing.

Hotch’s too.

Clothes gone, enough to last them a week, if Hotch doesn’t intend upon making use of a washing machine. So, not permanent then, just a lesson. Just a moment for them all to breathe.

Reid realizes suddenly that this means he’s alone in an echoing house with a hare that suddenly has a lot less to say and a pocketful of escape. He sits on the bed they share until the sun dips down; welcoming the darkness and the fear it brings.

 

 

The door to the spare bedroom opens and Rossi walks in, frowning down at Hotch sitting awake next to the snoring Jack. “You can’t hide in here forever,” he says sternly, lowering his voice. “We’re going to have words eventually.”

“Dave, please. I just need space,” Hotch says. He looks down at his son and focuses on memorising the curve of his cheek. Reid wouldn’t need to focus. Reid would just remember. He’d always remember.

“Bull-fucking shit you do, Aaron,” Rossi snaps, and Jack shifts restlessly. “What are you, a goddamn fifteen-year-old girl? You’re forty-one; you don’t need space, you need a kick in the head.”

Hotch stares at him. It isn’t often that his team manage to surprise him. He’s not overly surprised that it’s Rossi who still manages it. “You don’t…”

“Is it drugs?”

More staring. Hotch wonders if his mouth has gaped slightly, or if Rossi just always looks that smug. “What…?”

Rossi snorts, rubbing at his eyebrow. “What, you think I don’t know these things about the people I care about? You think I don’t know what could hurt them? He’s depressed about Prentiss, he’s just faced the death of someone he loves for the first time, you’re being a complete cu—”

“I’m doing what I can.” It sounds like an excuse, even to Hotch. He flinches as the words fall unbidden from his mouth, self-pitying and desperate.

Rossi looks disgusted by them as well. “The Aaron Hotchner I work with wouldn’t have left a recovering addict drowning in grief by himself because he ‘needs space’.”

“I’m not that Aaron Hotchner anymore.”

“Clearly. Because the man I know would have brought his son here to spend the night playing video games and eating junk with his grand old Uncle Dave while he went home to sort his shit out.” Silence. Hotch looks away from Jack and Rossi is holding out his keys. “Go, or I will.”

He takes them.

 

 

Reid does what he needs to and holds no regrets. Aureilo watches and his face is impassive. Reid doesn’t ask him what he thinks of his choice. He knows that, if he does, the hare probably won’t answer anyway.

 

 

Hotch finds his partner on the bed. For once, he’s not sprawled across the entirety, leaving only a slim space on Hotch’s side for him to slip onto. Instead, he’s wrapped around himself like a spider. His arms and legs are curled against his chest as though he’s containing all the pain and misery of the world inside himself. Something in Hotch’s own chest cracks a little at the sight, letting in a cold feeling of dread to seep through.

Memories of the last time he’d almost walked away haunt him and he stands in the doorway and imagines rolling Reid back towards him and finding those warm hazel eyes blank and empty. He imagines pressing his fingers to his throat and failing to find a pulse. He imagines the smell of vomit and the sensation of a failing heart.

He wonders if the hare on the coin will have one ear or two. Who Spencer Reid had been, or who Aaron Hotchner had turned him into?

Hal solves it by padding into the room and jumping up onto the bed. Reid jerks and sits up, face unfamiliar in the gloom. It’s dark in the room, Hotch realizes. Reid hates being in the dark alone.

“Are you high?” he asks instead of turning the light on, letting the night mask anything Reid wants to hide.

“We flushed them,” Aureilo answers from the other side of Reid, and his voice is raspy with disuse. “They’re gone.”

Hotch walks into the room and settles carefully onto the bed, letting the space between him and Reid yawn widely even as Hal presses between them both. “You brought drugs into the house where our son lives,” he says, feeling sick. His voice is emotionless. It hides the anger that burns in him. Not at Reid. It should be at Reid. He’d risked their son’s life with his actions.

At himself. Because, he did too.

“I know,” Reid rasps. “I… I can leave. I can find a hotel, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t want that. He can still fix this. “You choose them or you choose us.” Unspoken is the assumption that Hotch will make if Reid walks out that door. There’s only one reason Reid would remove himself from the house. Unspoken is that, as soon as Reid walks towards that door, Hotch will be doing everything in his power to remove that option. He’d rather lose Reid as an agent, then lose Reid entirely. First, he’ll call Rossi. Then Strauss.

Then rehab.

Reid’s breath is a steady metronome in the silent room, everything poised and waiting. “Choose,” Hotch repeats, closing his eyes and steeling himself.

Slim arms wrap hesitantly around his shoulders, waiting to be shaken off. Waiting to be rejected. “I already have,” whispers a voice close to his ear, and Hotch leans back into it. “Have you?”

The words linger on the corner of Hotch’s lips. If he turns his head to kiss his partner, there’s no guarantee that Reid won’t be able to taste them.

_“I lied about the death of Emily Prentiss.”_

Instead, he nods and counts the beats of Reid’s heart against his back.

 

 

Two days after Reid had almost ruined everything, Seaver yelps in shock and surprise. Reid looks up and Rossi is standing behind her looking innocent, Eris on his arm.

“Get your coat, Alice” he says firmly to Reid as he hoists Seaver up by the elbow. “We’re going to Wonderland.”

Seaver picks up her coat and stares at him as he strolls nonchalantly towards the exit, supremely confident that they’re going to follow. “Does this make him the White Rabbit?” she mutters under her breath. Reid isn’t sure if she’s talking to him or not.

“He is often late,” Reid says anyway, because it’s better than just following silently.

She looks at him, smiles, and there’s a connection. For a moment, it’s like having a friend. Then, the moment is gone and the smile slides away. He remembers that her hair is blonde instead of brown, and there’s no cat at her feet.

 

 

Rossi’s Wonderland turns out to be a bar, and Reid should have known that Rossi was going to get them drunk. He lets him anyway, because Rossi rarely does things without a reason. It’s not until he stops profiling men at the bar for Seaver’s amusement and looks around properly through blurry eyes that he realizes Rossi is nowhere to be found.

“Where’d he go?” his co-worker asks, her elbow skittering around on the wet surface as though she’s having trouble controlling it. “He was here… before? I think. Shit.”

“I think,” Reid says slowly, “that he’s trying to make us bond.”

Seaver blinks and her blue eyes are guileless. “He fucking would. What does he think, we’re incapable of making friends without his help?” She looks down to where Aureilo is sleepily leaning against her stool. “He’s an ass, Aureilo.”

The hare startles. Reid looks away, face flushing. It’s the first time she’s addressed his dæmon. “He’s not wrong,” the hare replies shortly, scratching at his ruff. “He’s just being an asshole about it. You two _are_ both pretty incapable.”

A head pops out of Seaver’s collar and chatters angrily at the hare below. “Speak for yourself,” it says in a pithy, female voice. “We don’t need Rossi to make friends.”

Reid stares at the chipmunk, something warm settling in his stomach that isn’t just the alcohol. Oh. _Oh_. Maybe he isn’t the only one who knows what it’s like to be different. He doesn’t say anything, just reaches for the bowl of nuts in front of them and pulls them closer.

Seaver and her dæmon both eye him with identical suspicion. “You know,” Seaver begins with a smirk. “Just because Paff’s a chipmunk, doesn’t mean she likes nuts. Aureilo likes candy better than carrots.”

Reid shrugs. “Because he doesn’t know what’s good for him.” He catches Rossi’s eye from across the bar, the man looking smug between two laughing women. “Luckily, he has others who know better.”

 

 

Reid comes home late, bringing with him the smell of expensive alcohol and wearing a coat that isn’t his. He staggers in the door and promptly trips over a coat stand. Stand and profiler tumble to the floor while Hotch watches incredulously from the living room.

“Shh,” Reid says seriously to the stand as he untangles himself. Aureilo stumbles in behind them, giddy eyed and silly and not much better off than his human. “People are sleeping.”

“People are drunk,” Hotch says, watching as Reid starts guiltily and turns to face him. “Why are you wearing Rossi’s coat?”

Reid looks down. “How can you tell its Rossi’s?” he asks, mouth tilting crookedly. “I don’t think he’s ever worn it before tonight.”

Because it’s expensive. Because Reid smells like the kind of alcohol that Rossi favours and shouts them whenever he puts his mind to getting them rousingly drunk. Because Reid is laughing and smiling and Rossi is the only one Hotch knows who can take a person and break down their carefully constructed barriers in one night. Because ever since Hotch had started at the BAU under Rossi’s wing, Rossi has been determinedly fixing everything Hotch breaks.

“Because he texted me and told me he was sending you home for me to deal with,” Hotch replies, standing and going to help extract his partner from the stand.

“Seaver dropped her drink on me,” Reid says instead, blinking up at him with a glum expression. “It was a mess. I deserved it.”

“He told her that the coat she was wearing made her hips look wide,” Aureilo pipes up, hopping carefully around the scattered apparel.

“It was an unflattering cut.” Reid reaches his arm and Hotch hauls him up, staggering as Reid’s entire weight is unexpectedly in his arms. The atmosphere changes suddenly, the giddiness gone. “You don’t love us anymore.”

The words burn. Hotch pulls him tight, hearing the thickness to Reid’s voice that’s not only caused by liquor. “What? What on earth brought this on?”

Reid shakes his head and doesn’t answer, pressing his nose against Hotch’s chest.

“It’s not true,” Hal snaps from the doorway. “Not true at all. You’re being idiots.”

Hotch uses one hand to tilt Reid’s chin up, staring straight into his rapidly blinking hazel eyes intently. “We love you more than we know how to show,” he says firmly. “I’m sorry that we let you think otherwise.”

Reid nods.

 

 

Three months after the death of Emily Prentiss, a butterfly lands on Reid’s pen as he traces a line between two correlating statements. “Kailo?” he says stupidly, staring at the yellow wings slowly closing.

“Surprise,” the butterfly says in his whispering voice, the words barely audible in the busy bullpen. “Turn around, silly.” Reid turns and JJ is standing there, holding up a badge that’s so familiar he grins at the sight. Rossi smiles down on them from the level above. Hotch is nowhere to be seen.

It’s like having his family come home.

Some of them.

 

 

Things aren’t good between them, but they’re getting better.

Then, they get the news.

“I’m being transferred temporarily to a unit based in…” Shock takes the words out of his mouth and leaves them dangling between them. He sees Spencer brace himself. “…Pakistan. They’re sending me to Pakistan.”

Spencer closes his eyes for a moment before sighing loudly and nodding. “This is payback for getting JJ back, isn’t it? They’re mad we went around them.”

Hotch looks down and Aureilo is leaning against his legs, his weight a warm reassurance. “We’ll get through this,” the hare says, eyes glittering.

“If I fight this, they’ll use it as an excuse to split the team permanently,” Hotch warns them.

Spencer looks darkly determined. “Then don’t fight it. We can survive this.”

“Jack…”

A laugh, unexpected but welcome. “Do you think Jessica would mind?” Spencer’s voice is brisk, trying too hard to be cheerful.

It hurts. Hotch would have thought that Spencer would have fought a little harder to keep their family together. “Well, of course not, she always says Jack is welcome anytime there….”

Spencer frowns and Hotch wonders what he’s gotten wrong. “No, I meant do you think Jessica would mind staying here. With me and Jack. While you’re gone, I mean.”

_Oh._

Still a family then.

They can get through this.

 

 

Seaver gasps once when she opens the letter on her desk. One look at her face, and he knows.

“Transfer?” Reid asks quietly, but she doesn’t hear him.

She’s looking up at Rossi’s office and her face is pensive. “How do I say goodbye?”

The words by Reid’s knee are so quiet that Reid’s pretty sure he’s the only one who hears them. “Don’t,” Aureilo mutters miserably, pressing himself flat against the floor as though feeling hunted.

 

 

It’s both the easiest thing and the hardest.

“Reason behind your request for an extended leave of absence?” Strauss eyes him and her face is inscrutable. Reid knows she’s thinking of the plane leaving in two days to take Aaron away from them. He wonders if she had anything to do with it.

“Family,” Reid says firmly, and she nods and signs the request. Suddenly, he’s sure she didn’t. They’ve had their differences, but she’d never take Aaron away from his son. He grips the paper tightly enough that he can feel it tearing slightly between his fingers.

Now, he just has to tell the team.

 

 

The night before Aaron leaves, they lie together in their bed and neither considers that it could be the last time. No one ever had warned them that their time was finite, although later Reid would think that it should have been expected.

 

 

Aaron has a tan, and a beard. Or, at least, Reid _thinks_ it’s a beard. It could be some sort of horrible growth.

“Do you like it?” Aaron asks, leaning closer to the camera and grinning.

Reid pulls a face. “I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” he says into the laptop screen, waiting a moment until Aaron laughs. There’s a lag between them, a disconnection. The distance is painful.

“Daddy’s a silly bugger,” Jack says disapprovingly, shaking his head in a manner that Reid suspects he’s copying from Reid himself. The wide smile on Aaron’s face supports that theory.

“Who taught you to say that?” Reid asks Jack, the boy wriggling in his lap at his excitement to be able to talk to his dad.

“I suspect the man you’re looking for starts with the letter ‘D’ and ends with ‘ave’.” Aaron laughs, but Reid can see him glancing down at his watch. They’re already out of time. “It won’t be long now…” Reid doesn’t reply, just bites at his lip.

“It’s been too long already.”

Jack cries as soon as the screen goes black, and Reid wishes he could do the same.

 

 

The days blend together and Hotch misses his family. At least he knows he has a family to go back to. Some of the men here don’t even have that.

He misses them and tries not to think about the possibility of going home to nothing.

 

 

The team still visit, but time flickers by and leaves him behind. He has Jessica and Aureilo and Jack and Arelys. It’s not really enough. Reid always did want too much.

He comforts himself by reminding himself that it’s not long now before Aaron will be home and everything will return to normal. At least now, he’s so busy with catching up on his studies and looking after Jack that the box in the back of his mind lies forgotten. The words no longer haunt him.

Lauren Reynolds may be dead, but Reid has slowly come to terms with the death of Emily Prentiss as well.

 

 

He gets the call.

“Hotchner,” he barks into the crackling line, the heat fierce on tanned skin. It’s such a far cry from home, this dusty desert camp in the middle of nowhere, that hearing Morgan’s voice is a cold shock.

“We found Declan Doyle.”

The house of cards that they’ve constructed around the life and death of Emily Prentiss begins to tumble down.

 

 

It ends like this.

Emily Prentiss walks into the room with her dark hair and her black cat. Spencer sees her; Hotch learns what it looks like in the exact moment someone falls out of love.

It ends with Spencer doing his job as though nothing has happened until Hotch catches his arm and pulls him aside. It ends with Spencer smiling calmly at him and the rush of relief he feels at that smile. “You realize that this is the end of us, don’t you?” Spencer says, as casually as though Hotch had asked him the time.

It’s like finding steady ground only to have it crumble underneath him, throwing him back into the waves. “It’s not over,” he replies without thinking, because of course it isn’t. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

They’re supposed to have forever.

Spencer laughs and there’s a hysterical pitch to it that slashes knifelike into his heart. “It was over the moment you walked out of that room and told me she was dead.”

It ends.


	21. Those who love carry the heaviest scars.

They’re on leave for two weeks while Doyle’s case is investigated. Reid uses the time to remind himself of his life before Aaron Hotchner had walked so casually into it and destroyed everything he’d thought he had.

“You’re too skinny,” his mom scolds him when he enters the sunlit room where she’s quietly reading. She sets her book down and clucks her tongue, a smile creeping in at the corner of her mouth. “Always too skinny, Spencer. Aureilo, my brave hare, you’ve been missed.”

It’s a greeting so familiar it’s like stepping back in time. He’s thankful she knows him today. Reid sits in the chair opposite his mom and watches with a tired smile as she welcomes Aureilo onto his lap and strokes his silky ear. Her hand pauses over the thick scarring on his head and he braces.

“Those of us who love too much carry the heaviest scars,” she says softly, tracing her fingers over it and closing her eyes.

Sonnet chirrs in the back of his throat and presses his head against Reid’s hand. “We’re okay, Mom,” Reid tells her gently, resting his palm on the cheetah’s ruffled fur. “We’re doing okay.”

She eyes him and her gaze is sharp. “No, you’re not.” She shakes her head for emphasis. “Don’t lie to your mother, Spencer. We always know.”

They’re not okay.

Aureilo is silent and Reid feels nothing.

 

 

Spencer packs his stuff with the speed and efficiency of someone well-used to pulling vanishing acts. Hotch tries to stay out of his way and pretends it doesn’t hurt when he walks past a bookshelf half empty or finds a drawer that echoes hollowly when he opens it. Jack isn’t there, and Hotch isn’t sure how he’s going to explain to him that Spencer is leaving and not coming back.

He isn’t even sure that he’s come to terms with it yet.

Hal tries to approach Aureilo, just once, responding to the unspoken yearning that tears at Hotch’s heart. Aureilo flattens his ears in warning and ignores her. When she still presses in, he hisses and lashes out with a quick paw.

She doesn’t try again.

Hotch has never seen Spencer this angry before, and the rage that simmers beneath the quiet man’s eyes is breathtaking. It’s more at home in Morgan’s gaze than Spencer’s, and he wonders how long it will take to burn out. Too long for them, he assumes.

Hopefully, not too long for the team.

“Where will you stay?” he asks quietly when the packing is done and Spencer goes to leave, his face dark and unapproachable.

“That’s not your business anymore,” Spencer replies coolly, and tosses his key onto the counter. Then, he’s gone, leaving Hotch and Hal alone with their ghosts.

There’s one last thing Hotch can do for him, and he reaches for his phone.

 

 

It’s like deja-vu when Reid unlocks the hotel door and steps through to find Rossi sitting on his bed, flicking idly through the channels on the grainy TV. Eris is perched on the curtain rail and they both turn their heads in eerie unison to glare at the younger man and his hare.

“Now, I know we’re on a budget and all,” Rossi begins, his voice dangerously casual. “But I know for a fact that you’re getting paid enough to at least find a place with working hot water.”

Reid closes the door, looking around at the peeling paint and shabby carpeting. The décor matches his mood. He’d thought he’d be safe from meddlesome profilers here. He should have known he wasn’t. “Why are you here?”

Stupid question. Rossi’s here because he’s Rossi and he can’t help but get involved. A spark of anger burns in Reid’s chest, flickering into a flame easily. He’s angry a lot these days.

Underneath the anger is nothing, and they don’t like feeling nothing.

Rossi drops the remote and stands, stretching calmly. “I paid your bill and did you the favour of checking you out before you catch something gruesome from the door handles. Get your stuff.”

He freezes, sensing a trap. “I’m not going back to Hotch’s.” The name sticks on his tongue, tripping him over. He flushes, knowing Rossi has seen the stumble.

The older man nods slowly. “I know. But you’re not staying here. Come on. I have a spare room, working hot water. And you’re much less likely to get murdered at my house, unless you annoy me.”

“Actually, in the last forty years only twenty-two people have been found deceased in hotels and, of those, nine were from natural causes. Statistically, I’m in more danger in a private residence.” Reid tries to smile, sensing the dark mood that seems to have settled on the other man despite his calm demeanour. “I’m fine here, Rossi.”

The large owl ruffles her feathers loudly. “Did we say you have a choice?”

 

 

“Some of us had an inkling,” Rossi says quietly to him, and Hotch’s heart misses a beat. His friend is watching Prentiss carefully unpacking her desk, and there’s a wistful expression on his face. “What? I’m good at what I do.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hotch asks him, swallowing hard.

Rossi shrugs, and closes his eyes for a second, looking regretful. “I thought you’d… handle it. I was wrong.”

There’s a long, painful silence broken only by the click of Hotch’s pen on the desk and Hal’s soft breathing. “Is he…?” Hotch begins finally, unable to hold back the question that’s bouncing around his mind in endless rotations. _Is he staying with you? Is he okay? Is he angry?_

_Is there still… something?_

Rossi just shrugs again and picks up a file to read. Hotch decides not to point out that the file is a budget sheet from three years ago and lets him deflect. If his friend is one thing, he’s loyal.

At least one of them still holds Spencer’s trust.

 

 

The empty bed hurts.

He skips breakfast because it’s not the same without Jack drawing pictures in his cereal with a plastic spoon. Dinner is a quiet affair broken only by Rossi swearing at the TV or grumbling about politics. He doesn’t try to talk to Reid about Hotch or work or his mental state, and he’s thankful for that. He doesn’t know what he’d say anyway.

Eris spends two days trying to goad Aureilo into a prank war and gives up when the hare shows little inclination to do anything but follow silently at Reid’s heels with his head low. She takes to watching them from the corner of her eye when they’re in the room, and they all pretend she’s not out of her mind with worry. Rossi’s the best at pretending. Reid’s had a lot of practise, but Rossi has perfected it to an art form.

He doesn’t unpack any of his stuff, because he knows this is an imposition and it’s only a matter of time before Rossi is sick of him and he has to move on.

He might have been the one to end it, but he’s vividly aware that it’s Hotch who withdrew first.

He doesn’t really blame him for that.

 

 

Spencer’s not the only one who’s angry. Hotch looks down into the bullpen and Spencer’s chair is empty. Emily’s isn’t though, and it’s an odd sort of conflict as he’s relieved and miserable all at once. Morgan walks past her desk and turns slowly on his heel, walking towards her with careful reluctance. Hotch almost smiles as they awkwardly talk, the tension visibly draining from Morgan’s shoulders.

Emily is their glue. She’d held their team together. She’s been sorely missed.

“Where’s Reid?” he asks JJ as the woman pops into the room. Her face is drawn. She’s stressed. Their team is splintering, torn apart by guilt and blame. He knows she’s been getting the brunt of it.

“Firing range,” she answers, pushing the door shut and leaning against it. “We have to do something, Hotch. Morgan isn’t talking to me, Spence isn’t talking to anyone, and Rossi is… well, he actually seems okay. Just relieved to have Em home.”

“I’ll talk to them,” he says finally, pushing back the misery that’s clouded around him since Spencer had determinedly walked out of his life. “It was my call, if they’re mad at anyone it should be me.”

“If only emotions were so logical,” Hal cuts in dryly, lifting her head from where she’s sulking on the couch.

JJ’s mouth twitches slightly. She hesitates, hand on the handle, clearly holding something back. Hotch knows what she’s going to ask. It’s the unspoken elephant in the room they’ve all been dodging around since they’d returned to work and found Spencer and Hotch distant and painfully professional. He doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll talk to them,” he repeats, picking up the phone in a clear message. She nods and leaves. As soon as she’s gone, he lowers the phone slowly into the cradle and sighs.

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

 

 

His aim is improving incrementally. His mental state seems to be having a positive effect on that, at least.

Aureilo senses them coming before Reid does. A wash of misery and worry swamps him, throwing his aim off, and he empties the clip before lowering the weapon and turning reluctantly. Hal and Hotch stand on the other side of the soundproof barrier with Aureilo. Three pairs of eyes locked on him, waiting for a reaction.

“You’re getting better,” Hotch states when Reid finally exits the range and stands in front of him. Reid hangs his arms by his side and blinks. He doesn’t know how to react anymore, hyper-aware of the awkward position he’s standing in and the minute twitching of his facial muscles. He can’t hide his reactions from Hotch, and that’s reason number one he should have never dated a profiler. Overcompensating for his muscle tics only makes them worse.

“Generally the expected outcome of practise,” Reid replies, his voice cracking. He can’t help the snarl to his tone either, leaving him sounding young and sullen. Not quite what he’s aiming for. “Do we have a case?”

Hotch takes a deep breath and pauses, mouth tantalisingly open. Something kicks low in Reid’s belly, sending a cold spark up his spine to settle on the back of his neck. Even after everything, the betrayal and the fights and _Emily,_ Hotch still leaves him breathless. “I need to speak to you about JJ.”

“Hmm?” Reid hums, snapping back to attention and running his tongue over his lip nervously. He notes how dry his mouth has suddenly become. “JJ?”

“If you need to be mad at anyone, be mad at me,” Hotch says firmly, and there’s nothing on his face to reveal what he’s thinking. Unlike Reid, he’s a closed book. Emotionally distant. “She was following my directions.”

Nothing’s changed there.

“It’s not quite the same, is it?” Reid says, dropping his gaze and looking at his feet. The heavy feeling in his belly is gone, replaced by a tightness to his chest that threatens to suffocate him. There’s none of the sadness he usually expects to accompany that feeling. Just the tightness, and nothing. “I’m mad at her because I went to her crying for ten weeks and she still kept it from me. You? What you did is so much worse.”

“I did what I needed to do to keep Emily safe.”

“None of us would have done anything to put Emily in danger, you know that. You could have told us. We’re the last people to leak.” That’s the core of it. He hadn’t trusted any of them, any of his team. The team that he needed to have his back every day; the team that would give their lives for each other.

Hotch hadn’t trusted them with Emily’s life; how can they trust him with theirs?

“Will we ever move past this?” Hotch whispers, and there it is; what Reid has been watching for. The slight waver in his voice, the evidence that Hotch is feeling this as well.

Reid nods without looking up. “As a team, yes. But that’s it. Don’t come looking for more.” He walks away first and realizes with a numb sort of comprehension that maybe that’s exactly what Hotch had come here searching for.

More.

 

 

“Where’s Daddy?” Jack asks querulously that night, breaking the tense silence that seems to have settled on the household since Spencer left. “When’s he coming home?”

Hotch tenses, searching for the words, but Arelys beats him. “Dad told us, stupid,” she snaps at Jack, her fur ruffled and bristling. “He doesn’t live here anymore. He’s not coming.”

“Don’t talk to Jack like that,” Hal scolds quickly, seeing Jack’s lip quiver slightly. Arelys might be angry, but he’s everything else. Sad, confused, hurt. It’s strange how dæmons work sometimes. Aureilo is Reid’s confidence. Hal is Hotch’s affection. Eris pulls pranks because Rossi doesn’t, and Naemaria is always the first to snuggle up against a friend in pain. They’re the parts of them that they struggle to show.

“Is he going to be gone forever like Mommy?” Jack asks finally, and Hotch gasps with the shock of pain that brings.

“No,” he says, and he almost shouts it in his haste. He lowers his voice and tries again, aiming for calm. “No… no. He loves you very, very much Jack, he just had to go away. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes adults can’t be together anymore, even though they really want to.”

“Can I see him?”

Out of the corner of Hotch’s eye, the slender young hare ripples with something more than just anger, and when he glances at her there’s something ever so slightly different about her. He frowns, studying her carefully. “Yes,” he says eventually. “Of course you can.”

 

 

Turns out, Rossi isn’t keeping as hands off as he promised. At least, that’s what Reid assumes when he looks up from his book and finds Emily standing in his doorway like a dream.

He’s barely spoken to her since her return, not because he’s mad at her—he could never be mad at her—but because he doesn’t know what to say. Seven months of missing someone led to a lot of things left unsaid, and none of them felt right anymore.

“Dammit, Spencer,” she says finally, leaning against the frame and tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Her nails are bloodied, bitten down to skin, and her face is haggard. “What have you done?”

He puts the book down and draws his knees up to his chest, knowing it makes him look vulnerable and hurt but not really caring. If he can’t be vulnerable in front of the woman he’d grieved over, who can he be vulnerable in front of? “Mourned you. For seven months. Do you have… do you have any idea what that was like? You were there, and then you weren’t, and then… you were dead.”

She walks into his room and he breathes in the scent of her with a sharp inhale that burns. That was one thing that his dreams had never captured—the scent of her skin and her perfume and everything about her. The bed dips slightly as she sits down and scoots backwards, pressing against his side in a warm line and leaning back against the bedframe.

They lay in silence for a long time. Neither looks at the other. “You mourned one friend,” she says finally. Her voice is raw pain. “I mourned six. Do you think any of us would have done that if we didn’t need to?” Aureilo pulls himself onto the bed with languid movements and huddles into her lap. She freezes for a second, shocked, before curling her arms around him and holding him close. It’s almost like being held himself, and Reid hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. Sergio appears at his side and tucks himself under Reid’s arm. He purrs, a steady metronome that Reid focuses on. “I came here to yell at you.” Her voice is low and Reid has to strain to hear it. “I was so damn angry because I thought you’d used me as an excuse to destroy everything. You do that, you know. Self-destruction. Even before this, you were always ready to throw everything away for a cause. You’re so damn smart you don’t even realize how stupid you actually are.”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. “You were angry? Not anymore?”

She leans her head against his shoulder, and it hits him suddenly that she really had missed him just as much as he’d missed her. He hadn’t believed it until now. “No. Now I’m just sad. And happy. Sad and happy all at once.”

So is he, he realizes with a jolt. The tightness is back, but this time it’s accompanied by a wave of cold misery that blurs the world at its edges. Tears. He hadn’t cried when they’d buried her, or after. Not even when he’d walked away from the man he thought he’d never walk away from.

It’s something.

“Can you stay?” he asks finally when the silence between them becomes oppressive again. “I… please?”

She chuckles, and they’re sitting close enough that the sound resonates through his chest. “Yeah. I don’t know how to say goodbye anymore either. It feels too final. Are you going to talk to him?”

He hums softly. “No. Yes. I don’t know. It feels like a bridge well and truly burnt.” Moving on. Keep going forward. Do not collect any money, do not pass go. It’s the only way he can find himself again, by not looking back anymore.

“Bridges can be rebuilt.” She kicks her shoes off and tilts her head back onto the pillow, her breathing evenly out slowly. “If the destination is worth the effort.” He rolls his eyes at her even as she relaxes, face smoothing out in a way it hadn’t since she’d returned. He wonders what had happened to her while she was gone, what kind of a life she’d lived.

Aureilo shifts and stretches. “Being dead changed you,” he complains, his voice husky with disuse. “You never used to talk in metaphors.”

She looks asleep, but her mouth twitches. “Here’s a metaphor for you. Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll turn you into shoes. And tomorrow we’re all going to see JJ and you’re both going to apologise for being presumptuous dicks.”

Reid waits until he’s sure she’s asleep before answering, keeping his voice a whisper in case she’s still faking. “That’s not actually a metaphor, Emily.”

He thinks maybe he can be happy again.

 

 

Monday, and he’s making a coffee in the breakroom when a familiar form appears at his side. “Thank you,” Spencer says, and when Hotch looks up there’s something changed about the other man.

He looks… happy. Almost. “For what?” Hotch asks warily. Hal narrows her eyes at Aureilo. He ignores them to lick his front paws fastidiously, running them over his ear.

Spencer takes a deep breath and smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s a start. “For Emily.” And then he’s gone, vanishing back into the squad room as though he’d never been there to begin with.

He should be happy because this is a step in the right direction for them all, but Hal droops by his side and betrays the clawing desolation that’s settled in his stomach.

Spencer’s moving on, and Hotch isn’t sure he’s ready to let go yet.


	22. I hate you.

Reid comes home one day and finds Rossi sitting in the living room with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a haunted expression on his face. Reid eyes the drink, calculating. They use alcohol as a crutch, they all do. Concern comes into it when they start leaning a little too heavily on it.  Reid’s seen one glass at dinner turn into two, until it becomes a breath permanently laced with alcohol and a fear of being sober.

He’s also seen the other side. He’s seen the wanting so fierce your body burns with it.

“Dave?” he asks cautiously, hesitant. He’s on thin ice, unsure of whether he has the right to probe further. Rossi looks shattered, broken. Reid’s never seen him like this before. It’s deeply unsettling, like seeing your father cry. Aureilo hops into the room and Eris moves from Rossi’s knee onto the floor; huddling against the large hare and staring at Reid with dull eyes.

Reid doesn’t need to be a profiler to know his friend is suffering.

“I caught up with my ex-wife today,” Rossi says slowly, and something cold and sharp claws its way up Reid’s spine. He braces himself for whatever Rossi says next. “She wants me to help her die.”

He hadn’t braced for that.

 

 

The funeral is small. Dave keeps it private and still Hotch feels like an outsider, like he’s somehow privy to a part of his friend’s life he shouldn’t be. Dave speaks of love and loss and he kneels to lower the coin into the grave with a careful hand. His fingers linger on it till they can’t anymore, reluctant to let go for the last time. Hotch doesn’t see the engraving on the side. Carolyn was before his time. He could look at the headstone, the dæmon marked on there. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to imagine what creature curled around Eris with love and devotion. He doesn’t want to think of Eris alone.

Spencer looks troubled as the crowd begins to part, and Hotch gravitates towards him. JJ does the same, only steps behind.

“There’s two graves,” he says quietly when Hotch is in earshot. His eyes are locked on the small headstone beside Carolyn’s. Hotch looks at it and in once glance notes the plain gold surface where a dæmon should be, and suddenly there’s a lot about Rossi that makes much more sense.

“Oh, Dave,” murmurs JJ with the voice of a mother imagining her worst nightmare. “He never told us…”

“We never asked,” Hotch replies, narrowing his eyes against the bitter wind.

 

 

He stops Hotch before he leaves the graveyard. Something about that tiny grave and the dates on the stone with far too little time between them haunts him. “I still want to be a part of Jack’s life,” Reid blurts out as soon as Hotch turns to face him, because he’s frightened to the core and he doesn’t know why.

A child gone before his dæmon even had time to form. A man grasping at a chance of reconciliation, only to have it torn away forever. Where’s the fairness in any of it? What’s the point?

The barest hint of surprise on Hotch’s face, gone in an instant and replaced with a sad smile. “Of course. He misses you.”

There’s a moment where Reid could say it. It would be one brick down from the walls they’d built between them. _I miss him too._

_I miss you._

He doesn’t say it. Reid’s very good at building walls, he’s had his whole life to practise. Taking them down again?

He’s still learning that.

 

 

He leaves Jack with Jessica and goes to Rossi’s because his friend is hurting. While Hotch knows Reid will be there for him, as best as he can, he’s not exactly who Hotch would call the poster child for emotional stability.

Rossi lets him in and pours him a drink without asking. Reid looks up from his seat in the armchair and smiles shyly from behind a lock of hair grown long again. He’s dressed for bed in flannel pyjamas and the sight makes Hotch’s gut twist strangely. It’s a relief when Reid excuses himself and vanishes from the room. When he’s there, it’s impossible not to focus on him or the way his gaze skips from the page to Hotch’s face when he thinks no one is looking.

Rossi pours another drinks and sighs heavily, scrubbing a worn hand across his face. “We’re getting old, Aaron.”

Hal grumbles in agreement from where she’s lingering by the door and Hotch chuckles. “Speak for yourself, I’ve got plenty left in me,” he teases. When he shifts in his seat, his old scars twinge as though to say, _don’t forget us, the weight of your years._

“You remember when you first started?” Rossi says abruptly, looking up with eyes that are uncomfortably damp. Hotch can see Carolyn in them and the thought of a tiny headstone. “Back when you were Hotshot Hotchner and I was an arrogant sonofabitch who thought I knew it all?”

Rossi doesn’t want pity. That’s not what he’s here for. “You’re still an arrogant sonofabitch, Dave. When exactly did that change?”

Ice clinks in the glass as Rossi sets it down, absently wiping condensation off his fingers onto the arm of his chair. “No regrets. That’s what I used to say, Aaron. I had no regrets. I was a fucking liar.”

Hotch’s eyes slip involuntarily towards the door that Reid just walked out of, and he knows Rossi sees the move. He would feel guilty about that, but the prick did it on purpose. He knew he’d look. “I’m not here for a lecture,” he says shortly, sensing the tone of the conversation shift. “I’m not Hotshot anymore, you can’t try to mentor me into learning from past mistakes.”

Rossi laughs and it’s a real laugh, achingly familiar. “That’s the thing. See, I thought I was teaching you how not to end up like me. Yet here we are, drinking and thinking about everything we didn’t have the balls to take from life. I think in the end, all I did was drag you down the same path.”

“Is this the part of the night where we slip into ‘wise advice from David Rossi’ and you offer me a signed novel?”

Eris hoots dolefully and turns her head to glare at them both with an expression that suggests they’re both old fools. Rossi smirks, picks up the glass, puts it down again. The moment stretches. “This is the part where we both work out what the fuck we want for once,” he says finally. “And we take it. Before we lose the chance.”

 

 

Time slips forward again with frightening speed. Reid looks at apartments. Rossi recovers quickly, although there’s a shadow of something in his eyes that speaks of immeasurable sadness. He’s not the type to stop and catch his breath. Reid’s inbox fills with rental listings filled with buzzwords and careful descriptions. He rolls his eyes at some of them, the careful photography hiding obvious structural flaws. He doesn’t think of the last time he’d done this.

Eventually, he sees one that catches his eye, and it’s not just a home. It’s a future. He swings the front door absently to and fro as the realtor chatters about the fittings and the view, and allows himself a moment of whimsy as he pushes it shut. Closing the door on the past. Moving forward. It’s become his mantra.

He thinks of Jack waiting for him to come home and feels sick. Remembers another boy, another man who’d packed without a word and never come back. He misses him, even after this much time. Too much time. Three weeks since they’d buried Carolyn.

“How many bedrooms?” he asks, even though he’d memorized it the moment he looked at the advertisement.

“Two,” the realtor says with a bright smile. Her eyes linger for a moment on his mouth, and the smile widens. He shifts uncomfortably. “Is that enough? We have bigger properties on our books, for families. If you need them.”

He stutters slightly, tripping over his tongue. “N-no. Two is fine.”

“Just you then?” The pitch of her voice lifts slightly and her rabbit dæmon preens. Aureilo tilts his head and watches it carefully. He leans forward, sniffing at the other dæmon, whiskers twitching. Reid jolts with surprise as he feels the spark of interest from his hare. He hadn’t expected _that._ _I practically had to draw you a map,_ snaps a voice in his head, and his throat goes dry. He’s out of practise. Flirting has never come easily to him, but it’s never left him cold like this before.

“Just me,” Reid answers, and tries not to think of bunkbeds and homework and a bed that dips slightly as someone else slips in. Tries not to think of warm arms around his waist, heat pressing against his back and a firm… he coughs, twitches. Adjusts his posture as his neck flushes with heat.

Four months since they’d broken up. Four months since _him._ Reid aches; his skin itches for touch, any touch, human contact. He can rattle off statistics about the need for companionship, the physiological effects of loneliness on the human body. He can talk about it till he’s blue in the face, but that won’t stop the hunger.

Her hand twitches towards her ear as though to tuck a lock of hair behind it, and he’s reminded of Emily. “Do you like old places like this?” she asks, looking around and they’ve veered off script. It’s personal now. He stumbles over the sudden change, readjusts, falls back on his mind. “You don’t find them spooky at all?”

“You know, older buildings like this emit a low enough frequency that you can’t consciously hear. It’s a kind of sensory overload that you can’t explain and it wreaks havoc with your emotions.” He pauses and smiles awkwardly, seeing her eyebrows lift. “Hence the feeling of being haunted. That doesn’t really answer your question, sorry… sorry.”

She laughs. “No, it’s fine. Would you like an application?” _Would you like my number_? It hangs between them, unspoken, but he’s a profiler. He can read her reactions as easily as she could the morning paper.

“Yes please.” He closes his eyes for a moment before taking the proffered sheet. He could ask. _Do you want to get lunch? Do you want to get a drink?_ His mind spins off on a tangent. _Do you like the things I do, will we make a connection? Or would I buy you a drink and make awkward conversation until we work up the courage to fumble our way through sex and then never speak again? I’d taste like the alcohol I’d have to drink so I could speak to you, and you’d come with someone else’s name on your lips. It would be quick and unsatisfying and leave us both wanting more._

“It was nice meeting you, Spencer,” she says, lingering over his name. She’d say yes. He knows this.

He’s not Morgan. He can’t dissociate. “Likewise.” He leaves, walking quickly, leaving her behind.

Moving forward.

 

 

Strauss has a drinking problem. He’s not surprised. She’s not the first in the FBI to have one, and she won’t be the last. They all battle their demons. Hotch thinks of the dark nights when Emily was gone and he’d head to the alcohol cabinet for false bravery before facing Reid’s questioning eyes. He’d flirted with it. They all have. Hell, they’re all quick to reach for a glass when a case lingers for too long on their minds and skin.

He does for her what he’d do for anyone and gets her help.

The memory of what she did for Reid when it was him struggling hovers in the back of his mind and cements his decision. When Morgan comes to him with his mouth a cold line and eyes blazing, he has his answer. “She did it for us,” he reminds the younger profiler, seeing the anger drain from his posture at the subtle reminder of their team member’s struggle.

“It’s good,” Morgan says after a pause. “It’s a good idea, Hotch. She needs help. And she needs to know she has a life to come back to.”

Hotch traces his fingers over the phone, considering. “We’ll ensure she does.”

 

 

His new apartment is empty, but it’s his. He focuses on filling the bookshelves first. His idea of interior decorating really doesn’t extend beyond overflowing shelves and a tattered poster of Doctor Who that Emily bought him. He smooths down the corner and grins at the memory of her smile when she’d brandished it proudly at him.

His phone buzzes.

  1. **Hotchner – free on Saturday lunch? Taking Jack to park. Thought maybe you could come.**



He doesn’t hesitate.

**To A. Hotchner – Yes.**

 

His workload has increased exponentially since Strauss left. Jessica’s going to end up billing him for childcare at this point. It lingers in his mind that, even four months after their breakup, he still has to remind himself that it’s Jessica who’ll be standing to greet him with Jack at her side instead of Reid. He’d always kept long hours. Reid usually made it home first.

He misses that still.

The door rattles as someone knocks and enters without waiting. Hotch rolls his eyes as Rossi bounds in. He’d memorised everyone’s knocks long ago. Rossi’s hadn’t taken much memorizing.

“You know, this is all probably Erin’s evil plan to suffocate you under the combined paperwork of both your offices,” Rossi tells him with perverse cheer. Eris swoops past his shoulder and lands on the arm of the couch, peering over at Hal. Hal looks worried at the casual scrutiny. “It’s probably some really convoluted, bureaucracy infused assassination attempt. Are you really going to let her do that to you?”

Hotch blinks and switches his attention away from the shifty looking owl over to his shifty looking friend. Hal rumbles a warning, and scampers out of talon reach. “What do you want, Dave?”

“I want you to not turn into a boring, bent-over old man at the ripe old age of however old you are.” Rossi smirks. “If it’s not too late already. Come on. It’s way past the time we should be home, and there’s a dinner waiting to be delicately crafted at my house. I’m Italian, if I’m offering to feed you, you’re obliged to eat.” Hotch hesitates. His stomach growls and Hal makes a noise like she’s echoing it. But… the smile flickers and Rossi looks uncertain suddenly. “Aaron… Reid moved out last week. He got his own place.”

Damn profilers.

Hotch grabs his coat and savagely pushes away the quiet voice the back of his mind chanting, _well, that’s that then. He’s not coming back._ “What are we waiting for then?” he asks with a forced cheerfulness he doesn’t feel.

_I could ask you the same question_ , hums the voice.

 

 

Jack sees Reid before Hotch does and attempts to impersonate an air-raid siren in his excitement. Hotch stands and can’t help the smile as his son pelts across the grass of the park and takes a flying leap into Reid’s arms, all his anger at the man forgotten in an instant. Arelys bounds forward and bounces back and forth over Aureilo’s back until she misjudges and the two hares go down in a tumble of ears and lanky legs.

Hotch walks slowly to them with Hal at his side, her tail waving madly. “Stop that,” he mumbles to her. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she retorts, lifting her tail so the wagging is even more visible. “I’m happy. Some of us actually do like to show emotion, you know.”

He looks over right as Reid tosses Jack into the air and catches him easily, tipping him upside down with a throaty laugh.

It feels right.

 

 

Reid tries to teach Jack the physics behind being pushed on the swing, but the four-year old shows a marked disinterest in the specifics. Hotch sits nearby, picking at the remains of the lunch they’d shared, letting the two have their space.

“Why the long faces?” Aureilo asks as Jack stops kicking and lets the swing glide to a stop, chin jutting out in an angry pout and eyes darkening. Reid recognises the signs of a mood coming on, and carefully sits cross-legged on the bark chips next to Jack’s legs, peering up at him.

Jack sniffs. “I don’t want to go home yet,” he mutters, and Reid is horrified to see his mouth wobble threateningly.

“We’re not going yet,” he replies, confused. “We can play a bit more, if you want.”

Jack’s eyes flick up to meet his. “But when we do go home, you won’t come with us,” he accuses and Reid almost groans with the realization.

“I have my own home now,” he says warily. “With Aureilo. But you can come visit sometime, maybe even have sleepovers. Would you like that?”

A stubborn shake of Jack’s head. “No. You have to have sleepovers at my house.” Suddenly he looks hopeful, and it breaks Reid’s heart. “You can have my bed if you and Dad are still angry. Then you can stay because you’ll have a bed!”

“Jack…” Reid begins, but Jack slips from the seat and backs away, his hopeful expression turning to miserable anger. Arelys presses against his side, and he puts his hand down to press against her, seeking comfort. She ripples slightly, and Reid frowns, leaning forward to study her.

“No!” Jack screams, and he’s in full tantrum mode now. Reid looks around quickly and Hotch is standing, moving towards them. He’d heard the shriek. “No! No! You have to come! You can’t leave! It’s not fair, it’s not fair!” Reid reaches out, murmuring soothingly as Hotch’s voice floats over to them, calling Jack. A fat tear rolls down Jack’s chin, and his lip glistens. Reid flinches and fumbles uselessly for a tissue in his pocket. Jack jerks back from his hand and shakes his head again, dislodging the tear. He swipes at his face, leaving a shiny trail across the back of his hand. Reid’s eyes water in sympathy. “You’re stupid!” he snaps, and Reid is frozen, stunned. He blinks, opening his mouth and closing it. “I hate you!”

“Jack!” Hotch scolds from right behind Reid but Reid doesn’t look at him. His skin burns, he can’t bear to see the expression on the other man’s face. “Don’t talk like that!”

Arelys ripples again and shifts, turning into a sulky looking jackrabbit with copper fur and darkly tipped ears, before shifting again into a glossy white arctic hare. Aureilo backs away, uncertain, paws skittering in the loose bark chips.

“You’re going to leave like Mom did,” Jack finishes with a gasp before bursting into hysterical tears, his small frame shuddering with the force of the sobs. Hotch mutters something under his breath before swooping past and pulling him into a hug. Aureilo takes one look at the panic-stricken child weeping into his father’s chest and the sympathetic looking mothers watching them, and bolts. Reid watches him go, feeling trapped, as the hare vanishes into the bushes of the park. No doubt to hide under Reid’s car and sulk.

Reid’s jealous. He wishes he could follow.

But he can’t. He’s left too many times already. He recognises the anger and the pain in Jack’s voice, even if he hadn’t been young enough to be quite as vocal about it when William Reid had left. And he’d done exactly the same to Jack. Like father, like son. A perpetually repeating cycle.

“I’ll get… tissues…” he stammers, standing in a shower of bark chips and trying not to run to the table holding their bags. A lady catches his arm as he passes, holding out a packet of wipes with a knowing smile.

“It gets easier you know,” she offers politely. “I lost count of how many times my boys told me they hate me. They latch onto anything that gets a reaction, you know. He doesn’t actually mean it.” Reid takes the wipes with a choked thanks and tries to catch his breath, the edge of panic creeping in on him. He’s never been good with tears or tantrums, never been able to cope with Jack’s distress. Hotch had always been the calm one, the steady one, who’d swept in and soothed hurt feelings and damp eyes. She pats his arm. “You’ll see. Ten minutes from now and your son will be smiling as though nothing bad ever did happen.”

The words sear into his brain as though she’d shouted them, proving his unworthiness. “He’s not my son,” he mumbles, feeling sick, and clenches his jaw against the burning in his throat and eyes. _Not anymore. I messed that up. Like everything…_

He takes the wipes back over to Hotch and every step echoes with _I hate you._

 

Hotch takes one look at the frightened deer-in-the-headlights look on Reid’s face, and his heart sinks. As soon as he bends to try and soothe his son, he hears the sound of Reid bolting. He’s not surprised. Reid has always been terrible when Jack was scared or crying or hurt. Hotch used to joke that instead of having to deal with one hysterical child, he’d managed to gain two.

Somehow, it isn’t as funny anymore.

Reid returns and Hotch tries to catch his hand as the other man hands him a packet of wet wipes to try and clean the mess off of Jack’s reddened face. Reid pulls back before he has a chance. Hal is busy soothing Arelys, but he feels a ripple of apprehension.

“I should take him home,” Hotch says, before groaning inwardly as Reid’s face falls just that little more. He looks horribly like a beaten dog, kicked when it’s down, and Hotch can’t deal with him right now when Jack is half-way towards screaming himself sick. He should have said ‘we should take him home.’ He’d meant to. He’d just… gotten used to doing things alone.

“You should,” Reid says robotically, pale skin clammy and eyes shiny. Worry claws at Hotch’s belly. Jack has become overly fond of telling things he hates them recently. Jessica assures him it’s a stage. Hotch hadn’t thought to warn Reid, hadn’t thought for a moment that Jack would aim his vehemence at the young man. When Reid falters over a hurried goodbye and leaves with slumped shoulders, Hotch reconsiders his certainty. He turns to call after him, trying to unwrap Jack’s arms from their vicelike grip on his shoulders, but he’s already gone.

Well, damn.


	23. You were my all.

He runs because it’s the only time when his mind is clear of everything that disturbs him. The burn of his muscles as his trainers slap against the pavement is a comforting rhythm that lulls him into a false sense of peace. As though, if he can just keep on running, none of the troubles of his life can catch up to him.

The problem is, he has to stop eventually.

Hal shakes her coat out when he eventually staggers to a stop. She watches him with amused eyes, her ground-eating stride easily pacing him with energy to spare. “Human legs are inefficient,” she says with a yawn. White teeth gleam against her black coat for a second until her jaws snap shut.

He catches his breath. “I’m sure Reid would have some sort of data that disagrees with that statement,” he says back, feeling stab of something in his chest at the casual mention of him. “Shall we go again?”

Keep running. Don’t stop. Moving forward.

“I hope you’re training for something,” says a light voice behind him. “Or do you just do sprints for fun?”

He turns and there’s a woman watching him from where she’s leaning against a bench, water bottle held loosely in one hand. Dark blue eyes meet his without a pause. Hal stiffens, caught off guard.

“No… no,” he stammers, sounding horribly like Reid. “I’m trying to do this triathlon in February, so…”

She smiles and it’s the kind of smile that would make men do stupid things just to catch a second glimpse of. “Oh, the FBI one? You’re an agent?” She pauses, nose wrinkling slightly. “I’m not supposed to ask if you’re an agent, am I?”

He laughs, and his throat closes on it. “I work for the justice department.”

She runs a hand over her neck, strands of brown hair catching on the sweaty skin, and looks uncertain for a moment. Hal rumbles slightly, a warning, and Hotch glances at her. Her hackles are standing on end, ears pointed forward and tail held stiff. A husky with soft chocolate markings hesitates by her side from where he’s trying to introduce himself, blue eyes wide and guileless.

“Coop, leave off,” the woman hisses, flushing red. Hotch winces as he realizes what it must look like.

“No, it’s fine, she’s just… we’re not great at meeting people.” He switches on the charm he rarely finds a use for these days, seeing her relax slightly at the smile. Hal huffs once and extends her muzzle down in a wary greeting, brushing slightly against the husky’s nose.

“Ah, well,” she says, peeling at the label on the bottle with a nervousness that doesn’t suit her. “Maybe you just aren’t meeting the right people. I’m Beth, this fluffball is Coop.”

“Aaron.” He extends a hand. Her palm is dry and warm, confident in his grasp. He lets go quickly.

“Halaimon.” The dæmon looks past the husky as she says her name, straight at the woman with a challenge in her dark eyes. Hotch’s breath catches in shock. Beth looks surprised as well.

“Hi, Halaimon,” Beth says after a short pause. “So, do you guys want to do another lap?”

It’s what the team have coined the ‘Aureilo test’: how people react to Aureilo speaking to them the first time. They’d used it in the past to test reactions to dæmons, to ease children into an interview. And Hal had just used it on Beth, without even pausing.

She’d passed.

He makes his choice. “Okay.”

Moving forward.

 

 

Aureilo rolls his eyes as he adjusts his pace to match Reid’s stride up the hall of their workplace. “You said one bite. I had one bite.”

Reid peers in the bag with a frown. “A bite? You practically inhaled the entire muffin, Aur.”

“I was hungry. It was still only one bite.”

He stops and folds his arms, gratified when the hare shuffles his paws sheepishly, sitting up on his haunches. “No, I’m hungry. You’re hungry because I’m hungry and now we’re both going to be hungry because you ate my double choc chip muffin!”

A horrified sigh from behind them and they both turn to face JJ’s appalled expression. “For breakfast, Spence? We’ve talked about this. You can’t function on double chocolate whatevers for breakfast!”

Reid shakes his head firmly. “JJ, I can _only_ function on chocolate for breakfast. Chocolate and coffee is my natural fuel. Did you know…” he trails off as something cold trickles down his spine, a numb feeling of trepidation rolling over him from the still form of his dæmon. “Aureilo?”

“Did I know Aureilo?” JJ says with a laugh, taking the bag out of his loose hands while he’s distracted and holding it away from her, wrinkling her nose. “Spence?”

Aureilo shivers out of the frozen posture he’s sitting in, ear cocked, and hops slowly down the hallway. Reid follows, heart thudding a frantic beat against his breastbone as the unease grows. The door to the squad room is open, propped open by a harried looking cleaner, and the hare ducks past unnoticed.

A hare’s hearing for normal pitched sounds is only slightly better than a human’s. Better enough that the hare had heard the huddled group of agents’ conversation from all the way over at Emily’s desk.

“Out with it, Rossi,” Garcia says, almost vibrating on the spot with tension. “You know more than us; is Hotch dating?”

Rossi looks trapped. None of them have noticed Reid yet. “I don’t know. Ask him.”

“Hey, maybe this will help with his mopey demeanour lately,” Garcia chirps, clearly aiming for a casual tone, but her voice wavers. “Besides, it’s been months… do you think Reid knows?”

Emily’s head is bowed, looking down at the desk. Reid focuses on her the neat parting on her hair so he doesn’t choke on the lump that’s settled in his throat. A flicker of movement by her leg, and Reid looks down to meet Sergio’s wide eyes. Looking at him.

The cat blinks slowly, and says nothing.

“Hey, I say good for him,” Morgan says roughly. “Life is short. He deserves to be happy.”

Garcia makes a soft noise. Reid can’t see her expression, her face tilted away. “Venus is aligned with Mars, which means love is in the air and maybe we will get weekends off!” Rossi snorts and looks about to hide a smile. His gaze falls on Reid, and the smile slips away. “Anyway, I’m sure Reid’s fine. I mean, he broke up with Hotch and Reid is Reid so he’ll want Hotch to be happy as well and I’m sure—”

Rossi coughs.

Garcia freezes. “What? Is he standing there? He's standing there, isn't he?” She turns as though she’s facing her own execution. When she sees Reid, her face pales.

“Hi, Garcia,” he says softly.

She looks horrified. Tupelo ducks his head, before fluttering awkwardly down to Aureilo and clicking his beak. Aureilo taps his nose against the beak softly. _No harm done._ “I’m sorry, that was so rude, I shouldn’t…” Garcia begins, taking a step towards him, but he backs away quickly and bumps into JJ. The bag holding the muffin crunches between them as she exhales in surprise.

“It’s fine, fine. Fine,” he stammers. “It’s all fine. Just fine. Coffee? I’m getting coffee. Does anyone? Yes? Right.” He turns and walks away quickly, ears burning, legs feeling stiff and awkward as their eyes watch him go.

“Good work,” Emily says with a sigh, her voice carrying easily across the hushed room. “You managed to stunt his vocabulary to a third-grade level. I never thought I’d see the day.”

It’s fine. He does want Hotch to be happy. He’s _happy_ that Hotch is happy, no matter who he’s happy with. He doesn’t have the right to be jealous of Hotch being happy with someone else, not when he walked away first.

He’s just fine.

 

 

Jessica is sick and the paperwork is piling up. He can’t afford to leave work early today, not when the expense reports are due in the morning and there’s four cases to sign off on, with reports from each of his agents for each of the cases. Reid’s reports alone will take him three hours to sift through.

“Dave, what are you…?” he begins, but Rossi stands up quickly and shakes his head.

“No can do, I have… plans.” His eyebrow twitches very slightly. “Look, the paperwork will keep. They won’t draw and quarter you for failing to hand in your expense reports on time. Well… they might confiscate the jet…”

Hotch groans and drops his head into his hands. “Should we expect wife number five?” he grumbles bitterly. “Strauss never handed in paperwork late.”

“Four,” Eris corrects him, sounding affronted. “Do keep up, Hotshot.”

“You’re not Strauss. You have duties more important than fussy busywork. Tell them to shove it up…” Rossi trails over, glancing out the door and smirking. “Or actually, better idea, hello.”

“What?” Hotch asks warily.

Rossi leans out the door and cups a hand to his move. “Hey, Reid! Get up here!”

Hal bolts upright and Hotch imagines the expression on her face is very much like his own. “Dave!” they both hiss, but Reid appears in the doorway looking nervous and ruffled.

“Err… yes?” he asks. Hotch considers sliding down in his chair until neither of the men in the room can see him anymore as they both turn to look at him. Maybe he can hide under his desk. Maybe they won’t look for him under there. Maybe they’ll think he just… dissipated into thin air.

It would wipe that smug look off Dave’s face at least.

“Jack… Jessica’s sick,” he says, hoping his expression is impassive. Calm. Collected. If he stays calm and focused, maybe neither of them will think about the day at the park and the shattered way Reid had stumbled away from… damn.

Reid stills. “Would you like me to pick Jack up?” he asks. Profiler to the end. Hotch scans his face, but there’s no sign of panic or worry.

Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I understand this is an imposition,” Hotch says, sitting back in his chair. His fingers itch to move, to nervously tap at the desk, but he constrains himself. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. I should be finished by nine, at the latest.”

Reid shrugs. “It’s no problem.” A quick, furtive grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Can I choose dinner?”

He almost loses his control. With the simple, casual question, Reid undoes months of careful containment. A grin, and a simple question about dinner and suddenly it’s all Hotch can do not to step over there and pull him back into his arms and ask where they went wrong. _He’s going to feed him something sugary and awful and we used to fight over that, we used to fight over Jack’s diet and he’d smile and we’d make up and two days later they’d be eating fries for breakfast again…_

“Alright,” he says instead. “Thank you, Dr. Reid.”

Dr. Reid. _Dr. Reid. Aaron, you idiot._

Reid vanishes and Rossi is staring at him like he’s grown an extra head.

“ _Dr. Reid?_ _”_ he says incredulously. His voice rises in pitch. There’s a nerve pulsing under his eye that Hotch only ever sees when they’re facing particularly troublesome local police forces. “‘ _Thank you, Dr. Reid?’_ Aaron, you’re a blithering idiot. I’ve seen cabbages emote better than that. _Cabbages_!”

“I think I might die of embarrassment for you,” Eris adds. “Maybe you should shut up and let Hal do all the talking from now on.”

He can’t even look at them. “Dave, please go away.” _Leave me here to deal with the fact I’ve regressed to nineteen._

Rossi goes, but not without the last word. David Rossi, in all his life, has never resisted the opportunity to have the last word. “I hope this Beth knows that you’re still holding a torch for Spencer bloody Reid,” he says, “because if you two are ever in the same room as her, and you turn into SSA Robotner again… well, Reid might be too thick to work it out, but she won’t be.”

He leaves and Hotch stares at a point on the wall where his face had been two seconds before, paperwork forgotten.

“I’m not in love with Spencer,” he states, trying it out. “Not anymore.”

“You sounded almost convinced that time,” Hal replies.

 

 

“Want to see my schoolbooks?” Jack asks him shyly, holding up his bag. “My teacher said I’m an in tell agent.”

Reid crouches and tries to decipher that, giving up quickly. “An in tell agent? She said that, did she?” What kind of teachers did they _have?_ Reid makes a mental note to get Garcia to check up on them. He knew only too well how much a bad teacher could stunt a child’s confidence…

“He’s four, Spencer,” Aureilo mutters out the corner of his mouth. “He’s at kindergarten. They finger paint and learn to say please and thank you.”

Reid frowns. “When I was four, I was in fifth grade.”

Aureilo flicks his ear. “And it shows. You’re a terrible finger painter. Jack’s going to have a much better experience taking the slow path, trust me.”

“Does she mean an intelligence agent?” Reid says suddenly, turning back to Jack. “A special agent, like your Dad?”

Jack beams. “Yes! In… in-tell-ee-agent. That’s what she said.”

“Intelligent.” Aureilo laughs. “She said you’re intelligent, Jack. Smart. Clever. Not so great with words but, then again, you are your father’s son.”

“Clever like you?” Arelys asks shyly, hiding behind Jack’s legs.

“Cleverer,” Reid assures her.

 

 

His phone is resolutely silent and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing, or a bad one. He glances at the clock. At the phone. Back at the clock. Dinner time. He should check on them. Spencer picks up on the second ring. “Aaron, he’s fine. We’re having pizza and ice cream.” Hotch hopes he means separately. Unfortunately, he’s had enough experience with Reid’s eclectic tastes to know he probably doesn’t.

“You’re going to rot his teeth.” Hotch tries to sound scolding but Reid’s voice on the phone is relaxed. Calm in a way that he hasn’t been in person around Hotch for months. “Or make him obese.” A throaty chuckle has Hotch shifting uncomfortably in his seat. It’s oddly intimate to be sitting in his dimly lit office with Reid’s voice in his ear. It sends a jolt of warmth down his belly to pool in his groin. He wets his lips nervously, taps the pen against the desk.

He really needs to get laid.

“With your genes? That would take an awful lot of pizza….” Reid trails off and hums thoughtfully.

“Please don’t calculate how much pizza,” Hotch says, realizing what Reid is doing. “I don’t need that kind of knowledge in my life, love.” Silence and he winces as the word bounces back at him. _Love._ A pet _name_. _Good work, Hotch._ Let that one slip.

“I’ll get Aureilo to run him around the backyard before his bath,” Reid says finally, and his voice is laughing. “Burn off excess pizza fat.” A loud shriek whistles tinnily into Hotch’s ear and breaks the intimacy between them. Hotch pulls the phone away sharply with a grimace. “Uh, gotta go,” Reid says quickly. “Jack pulled the curtain rod down and Arelys is stuck in the drape.”

Hotch tries not to laugh, because a parent’s first reaction when their child does something silly and possibly dangerous shouldn’t be to laugh at them. He fails. “Good luck. Give them a kiss from me.”

“Of course. Bye, Hotch.”

“See you soon, Reid.” He hangs up and rolls his eyes at Hal. “Our son managed to wrap Arelys in the curtain. He didn’t get his clumsiness from Haley. I’m blaming you.”

Hal tilts her head from where it’s resting on her front paws. “Sure thing, _love_ ,” she says with as close to a smirk as her muzzle could form. He wonders what he did in a past life to deserve so many sarcastic people surrounding him daily.

 

 

When Hotch gets home, Jack is already soundly asleep. “Read him a story and he’s out like a light,” Reid assures him.

Hotch stops in the doorway holding Reid’s bag, watching him pull his coat on ready to leave. “ _The Church Cat_?” he asks softly, and there’s something in his eyes that Reid wasn’t prepared for.

Reid freezes as Hotch steps forward to hand him the bag. Hotch’s voice is an octave lower than usual. “Of… of course, yes,” he stammers, and shivers as the memory hits him. He’s not the only one.

“I remember walking into that room and finding you fast asleep on the chair with Jack, just a baby, all cuddled up in your lap,” Hotch whispers, and Reid doesn’t know why he’s suddenly whispering, or why he’s moving so close; all he knows is that it would take one move on Reid’s behalf to change this moment irrevocably.

He doesn’t know what way to take it. What way is right.

Hotch stops and there’s still a distance between them. He’s letting it rest on Reid. He’s still close enough that Reid can see the way his chest rises and falls quickly with quickened breaths, and smell the sharp, familiar scent of him. “That was the first time I realized I was in love with you,” Hotch murmurs, and the words send a shock of electricity down Reid’s spine. “Watching you with my son, reading him that book… I was so fucking in love with you I felt like I was going mad with it.”

This is a mistake.

Reid is gone. He steps forward. His heart is racing, his hands shake as he holds them up to Aaron’s face, pulling them together. He can feel the lines of the other man’s jaw under his palm, firm and steady. Aaron doesn’t fight him, just lets Reid guide the moment.

A mistake. Reid hesitates with Aaron’s mouth inches from his. Their eyes are open. Dark eyes watching him intently. There’s a promise in them that Reid isn’t sure he’s ready to accept. Memories. Their destruction. This is them going backwards, as their hearts beat in unison and they breathe each other in.

He doesn’t kiss him, not at first. Just brushes his lips against his jaw, feeling the harsh rasp of slight stubble against the delicate skin. Ghosting upwards. Finding his lips. No pressure at first, just holding them there. Unspoken, _I need this_.

He’s not sure which one of them is saying it.

“You were my all,” Aaron breathes, and the words leave his mouth and enter Reid’s and choke him just as much as they arouse him. He’s hot, desperate, and scared.

It’s a mistake.

He does it anyway.

 

 

He doesn’t know why he does it. All he knows is that he’d spent the whole night pushing away increasingly unlikely fantasies about his subordinate until it felt like his brain was being crowded by them. He’d spent the drive home half-hard and furious with himself about it, determined to be professional when he got home, Spencer or no Spencer.

Which lasts right up until the mention of that goddamned book that Spencer had given to Jack; the stupid fucking book with the tattered pages, even though Reid would have memorized it on the first read through, and the wreath of memories it held for them. Jack and Reid playing toads in the mud puddle. Reid’s nightmares. Reid sending Aureilo away to keep Jack safe. Smaller moments, just as precious—when Jack had cried at the hairdressers so Reid had chattered on and on about anything he could think of just so the two-year old could hear his voice. Spencer trying to kick a ball to Jack and falling over. Haley’s last words.

_“You hold him tight, because he has what we never did, and I want that for Jack.”_

So much history between them. Hotch is drowning in it all at once. It’s impossible to think of it as being gone. There must be _some_ connection left. He’s close, too close, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Hal and Aureilo pressed together in a desperate huddle. He can’t tell if Aureilo is pulling away. Spencer isn’t. This is a last-ditch effort. Going all in. If this fails, he doesn’t know if he has anything left to give. Spencer watches him with eyes that are round with shock and confusion and something else that calls to the primal part of Hotch’s brain.

He needs Spencer to make the choice.

He’s talking, he’s been talking this whole time and he’s not even entirely sure what he’s been saying but whatever it is has shaken Spencer to the core. It’s the truth. Everything he’s saying, everything his body is saying, it’s all the truth. Raw and open for Spencer to see in a way he’s never let himself be before.

Spencer takes a single faltering step forward, pulls their faces close and stops, frozen, paused with their breaths intermingling. Their lips touch and Hotch almost groans with the offer of it. If this is what Spencer felt when he craved narcotics, if this was one tenth of the consuming desire he’d burned with, Hotch suddenly understands him so much more.

“You were my all,” he says and the words bring with them tears that burn in his eyes and leave him breathless.

Spencer makes a startled, gasping moan and suddenly he’s against Hotch and he’s all teeth and tongue and desperation, hungry neediness that Hotch reciprocates tenfold. There’s a hand up his shirt, pressing against his chest where the largest scar from Foyet’s knife mars the skin. Another is clutching his hair almost too tightly, holding them together. Their teeth collide, he tastes copper and it’s wet and frantic, as though they’re trying to climb into each other.

Hotch drops his hands to Spencer’s belt, fumbling, and his palm brushes the front of the other man’s trousers. Spencer’s hard under his hand, shockingly so. Hotch rubs his thumb down the length of him through the thin material and there’s the slightest suggestion of a damp spot under his thumb that Hotch teases at with slow, careful circles. Spencer hisses and rolls his hips into his hand, head lolling back on a loose neck and revealing a long expanse of pale throat. Goes to say something, cutting off the word with another shuddering exhale. Hotch imagine what he could have said, and shivers. Spencer pulls back slightly and there’s anger and desire warring over his thin features. Conflicted.

His belt gives way and Hotch isn’t gentle about slipping his hand in, under the elastic and curving his hand awkwardly around the other man. Spencer pants, chest heaving, almost leaning forward into him. “Wait, no, _fuck_ ,” he moans, shuddering and Hotch freezes, panicked for a moment. He opens his mouth to ask if he’s okay but the other man jerks in his grasp and kisses him again with a ferocity that’s unfamiliar and arresting. “I want… I don’t know. _Aaron.”_ He’s lost.

Hotch’s back is against the wall and Spencer is pressed against him and positively vibrating with _something_ that Hotch can’t name. His hand is slippery with the evidence of Spencer’s mounting desire, clumsy, constrained by the material wrapped around it, and he uses his other hand to slide inconvenient pants down slim hips.

Spencer seems to come back to himself, following Hotch’s lead and undoing his belt, zip, eyes locked on his crotch as he pulls them roughly out of the way. Hotch should feel ridiculous like this, half dressed and sticky, almost at the end of his tether already, but he doesn’t. Even with his pants half over his hips, hair wild and exposed, Spencer is still gorgeous and there and taking up all the space in Hotch’s head.

“What do you want?” Hotch asks huskily, because there was a moment where Spencer had gasped _no_ and he needs to know what that means before they go further.

Spencer’s voice is velvet and goes straight to his cock when he answers. _“You.”_

Aaron’s happy to oblige.

 

 

Reid’s not okay. Aaron is holding him and looking at him with eyes that are wide and open and Reid’s never seen him this vulnerable before. He’s against the wall, trembling underneath Reid’s weight, and Reid’s pretty sure that he’s never wanted anything so fiercely before in his life.

_Anything._

Aaron had held him and breathed the words, _“You are my all,”_ and he hadn’t just voiced them, they’re layered on his skin and his movements and the beat of his heart.

He wants to reciprocate that.

He doesn’t know how. He can’t know how. He’s never had this, never known this. He’s his father in a younger skin, remote and unable to commit. He’ll leave in the end. He’s proven it before.

But he has this moment. Maybe he can change things. He’s clever enough.

_“What do you want?”_

“You.”

The time after is a blur, a hazy wash of their bodies moving together, skin sliding over skin in a sweaty glide. Aaron bracing against the wall with Reid firm behind him, paused, waiting. A single moment that will become a memory that Reid will never lose, etched into his brain with indelible ink. Reid’s fingers digging into pale hips hard enough to bruise, his turn to bruise now, his turn to desire with a ferocity that leaves the other man tender.

Aaron arching his back slightly, stuttering Reid’s name in a voice that splinters like glass. Every movement of his body relayed through the muscles in his back, a shifting tapestry that Reid hyper focuses on to avoid breaking apart himself. Reid rocking into him with sharp thrusts. Teeth nipping at the skin of his neck. Losing focus once, just once, and saying Aaron’s name with reverence, muffling it by pressing his mouth against his shoulder. If Aaron hears it, he doesn’t react.

They don’t kiss, not once Reid is in. The atmosphere shifts, still desperate, somehow darker. Cold. Reid leans forward once, Aaron pulls away and shakes his head, sweaty hair hanging into his eyes and leaving him undone.

Aaron comes first into Reid’s hand, his gaze locked on the wall he’s leaning against and mouth shaping soundless words. Reid follows minutes later, pressing close to the warmth of his back as he pulses inside him and wonders if this is the last time.

 

 

It’s never been like this before. It’s never been this open and angry all at once, their pain and frustration building inside them until they’d given into it.

Hotch knows what he’s done. He’s taken a man finally free of the waves and pulled him back in, dragging him into the current. And he’s doing it out of love.

He knows what Reid is doing as well. Knows it in the bruises on his skin and the ache in himself as they pull apart. He feels oddly empty, as though he’d poured himself into Reid and received nothing in return. He doesn’t know if it’s him, or Reid, or both of them just failing to resonate on the same level. Reid’s never been like that with him, but Hotch can imagine with vicious clarity him being like that with others, a desperate fuck to get the needs of the body housing that brilliant mind out of the way.

He turns slowly and Reid stumbles back. Hotch isn’t sure if it’s just the sinking coldness of feeling like a fool that filters his perceptions, or if he’s finally seeing things clearly. Reid’s throat bobs as he swallows heavily, a dark bruise that Hotch doesn’t remember leaving blossoming on the skin revealed by the open collar of his creased shirt. He’s watching Hotch with eyes that are hooded prettily, the flush to his cheeks adding to it and leaving him with a well-fucked look that Hotch should feel content to see.

He does, on some distant level. Mostly, he just feels sick.

Reid takes another step back and his expression shifts, becomes nervous. “Aaron?” It’s in his voice as well, everything they’d just done.

“Aaron?” That’s not Reid. It’s Hal, and she’s by his side and pushing her head against his hip urgently. “What’s wrong with you?”

A hazy memory. He bets for Reid it’s still as fresh as the day it occurred. Before this, before Hankel, before everything. _“It’s alright, Hotch. It’s just sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”_

“What does this mean to you?” he asks and his voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away.

Reid’s face twitches, thrown, unsure how to respond. “What? The… sex?” A flicker of panic. His pants are still open. Hotch thinks dully that the crotch of his trousers is going to be a mess to clean.

_It’s just sex._

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Hotch parrots quickly, aiming for reassuring and overshooting. Even to himself his voice sounds monotonous. Three pairs of eyes are all locked on him, all confused. He’s backpedalling, trying to take back his declaration of everything, realizing how much he serves to lose if Reid takes that declaration and still rejects him. “It’s just sex.”

“Is it?” Reid asks, and Hotch isn’t sure if he’s confirming it or denying. His fingers deftly move over his clothes now, shaken out of his shocked stupor. They smooth corners, buckle his belt, flatten hair back. He even straightens his tie. Within minutes, he’s presentable again, a shield against whatever he was threatened with. The only sign of their moment of weakness is his eyes and his voice, and the faint suggestions of staining on his light pants. “I should go then.”

Hotch looks away, unsure if that was a question or a statement and unwilling to risk a guess.

“What are you doing?” Hal whispers, her voice not loud enough to mask the front door opening. A cool breeze blows into the hall, leaving goosebumps on exposed skin.

“If you need someone to look after Jack,” Reid calls back, “I’d be happy to. See you at work.”

“What are you _doing_?” Hal repeats louder as the door closes behind Reid. “Aaron, what the hell was that?”

He doesn’t know.

 

 

Reid sits in his car outside Hotch’s house and wonders what the fuck just happened. Did he completely misjudge what was happening in there? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d missed some obvious social clue and catapulted himself completely down the wrong track. It probably wouldn’t be the last. It would certainly be the most destructive time, though. He’s shaking with more than cold, fingernails tapping against the wheel. Halfway to a panic attack. He can still smell Aaron on his skin. He’s still sticky with the proof of their activities.

He’d thought Hotch was offering him something more, some olive branch to a reconciliation. He’d been unsure if he wanted it, if he was capable of taking it.

He’d misjudged. There hadn’t been any olive branch for the taking. Just sex.

_“It doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s just sex.”_ His own words from so long ago thrown back at him.

“I should go then?” Reid asks again, teeth chattering together. Aureilo is in the passenger seat, gaze shifting from him to the front door of the house, just as lost as he is. He brushes his fingers against the keys. Meets Aureilo’s gaze again. “But… I don’t want to.” They’re a whisper, spoken to no one.

There’s no one to hear him anyway.

 

 

**Clemmons – Would you like to get coffee this week? Your schedule allowing, of course.**

He hesitates, fingers settling on the screen and leaving fingerprints on the smooth glass. He thinks of the night before. He’d panicked. As soon as he woke up, groggy from a night of broken sleep, he’d known he’d panicked. Aaron Hotchner had finally taken a step towards taking something he wanted, and immediately taken five steps away from it.

Frozen with indecision, just like always.

There had been that single moment when Reid had paused and said his name with something close to a revelation. That moment, gone in an instant, tucked away behind deft fingers dressing without a pause. Gone, because Hotch had panicked and tried to cut it down to nothing.

Had probably succeeded.

Reid might have reciprocated because he was horny and alone, but Hotch had initiated because some part of him had known exactly what he’d wanted. He suspects that part of him is lying on the bed next to him, pretending to be asleep with her paws covering her muzzle.

**To B. Clemmons – Sorry Beth, something’s come up that I can’t avoid. Will see you Tues at Rock Creek, same time?**

**Clemmons – Of course. Good luck**

It’s taken him over forty years to work it out, but Hotch finally knows what he wants.

And he’s determined to get it back.

 

 

It was a mistake.

Reid paced his apartment, furious with himself. He’d _finally_ been fixing things with Jack. They’d had a wonderful night, a _fantastic_ night, and he could finally put the horror of hearing the voice he loves the most saying, _“I hate you.”_ All Reid had to do was smile and assure Hotch that they’d had a great time and that everything went perfectly, and leave. Then there would have been future nights together, sleepovers, he would have Jack in his life and by default, Aaron.

And at work… Aaron had been himself. Normal. Focused. Professional. It was comforting, for all that it confirmed how stupid Reid had been to give in to his baser desires.

It was selfish of him but, coupled with the desire to see Jack grow up into the great man Reid knew he would be, he wanted to hold a little of Hotch to himself as well. No matter what Beth ended up meaning to him, marriage and children and stability and everything Reid couldn’t give him; Reid would still have this one single precious thing to hold to himself and know they wouldn’t lose.

And then he’d taken one look at the way Aaron’s mouth turned up ever so slightly in a secret smile that only Reid knew to look for, and curve of his neck leading to the spot that Reid knew the slightest pressure would have him panting against him, and all of Reid’s mighty intellect had evaded him. Maybe it _was_ just sex. Nothing more than old desires stirring them both. Maybe there’s nothing more. He can’t be sure though. Oh, he’s sure about Aaron. No one in love switches off that quickly, surely, they couldn’t. Reid knows he couldn’t. No matter what Hotch had said before it had begun.

Of course, Hotch had used past tense. You _were_ my all. Now you’re a babysitter with benefits.

Was it some fault with himself? He’d never been this confused with previous partners. And there hasn’t been anyone else since their break-up. Aaron is a sample size of one.

He takes a deep breath and paces back to his room, pulling open the cupboard door to stare into his reflection. Panicked hazel eyes ringed by purple shadows stare back at him, swallowed by a thin, tired face.

So, increase the sample size. Collect more information. Extend the parameters. This is good. Logical. Familiar.

He reaches for a clean shirt and trousers, glancing at the clock as he lays them out. Eight p.m., Friday night. Time for a shower, a shave. Aureilo appears in the doorway looking nervous. “What are we doing?” he asks, whiskers twitching busily.

“Gathering data,” Reid replies absently, grabbing his towel.

“Oh _good_ ,” the hare states. His tone is concentrated sarcasm. “Because we couldn’t just let things be _simple_ now, could we?”

“Shut up, Aureilo,” Reid snaps, closing the bathroom door between him and the accusing brown eyes.

 

 

Saturday morning, and Hotch is determined.

Hal stands on her hind legs, front paws planted on the table, and stares intently at the paper. “We could take them to a movie,” she offers. “There’s some sort of singing chipmunk movie on.”

Hotch almost chokes on his coffee, turning to face her. “You want me to ask Reid to come to a movie about singing chipmunks?”

“Jack will like it.”

“Reid will spend the entire movie lecturing us about the scientific inaccuracies.”

Hal makes a noise in her throat, as though she hadn’t quite thought of that. “Good point.” She looks back down at the paper as Hotch scrambles the eggs for Jack’s breakfast, and he can hear a sudden _tattattat_ of her tail banging against the chair leg. “Well, what if we want to learn about chipmunks? Jack loves animals.”

“We’re not watching the chipmunk movie.”

“No, no, not the movie. But… there’s a science show on. For children. It has a physics display. And an animal display. Something for them both to enjoy.”

Hotch can’t help the smile as he spoons the eggs onto plates and looks down at his dæmon. She sniffs at her serving happily, tail still beating a tattoo on the wood. “Great.” He reaches for his phone, reconsiders.

It’s a Saturday morning. Reid will be home. They can swing by and surprise him. Properly, this time, not rushed sex in the hallway. An actual date, Jack included, where they can talk as sensible adults and lay everything out bare. Reid would jump at the chance to spend more time with Jack. Meanwhile, Hotch can put his own plan into action. He’s doing it right this time, not giving himself the chance to panic and cock it up.

“Operation courting Spencer is go,” Hal comments with a rare show of humour, biting into her eggs. “Let’s try not to fuck this up, okay Aaron?”

She has so little faith in him.


	24. I think I like the otters better

Reid wakes up with the cool sheets tangled around his bare legs. He kicks them off irritably, sleep clouding the edge of his thoughts with a comfortable fog. There’s a warm arm around his chest, a hand draped so that it rests against his heart. He curls back, pressing against that soft warmth, gratified to feel the arm shift in response, pulling him closer. A leg slides over his. Their chests rise and fall in unison. It’s new and familiar all at once, this presence behind him; even if the body is soft and curved instead of firm and heavy.

It’s the first time since Aaron that he’s woken up with someone beside him.

_(He ignores her when she sits on the stool next to him. She’s not what he’s looking for, he can already tell by the way her body is positioned; angled towards the woman serving the bar. The man serving him knows her, glancing at her and smiling warmly, familiarly._

_“It’s the law, man. I don’t make it.” The bartender turns back to him and shrugs. Bored. The music is a steady beat at his back, not so loud he has to shout over it, but it makes his pulse hum along._ _Reid huffs. There’s no point arguing. He pulls out his license, pushes it across the bar. He thinks of Emily’s expression if she saw him getting carded, and smirks. The bartender glances at it and moves off to get his order without another word, mind already elsewhere._

_A hand slips over the card before he can pull it back._ _“Spencer Reid, huh?” she says, narrowing her eyes at the card. “Carded at twenty-nine? Lucky you.”_

_He returns her smile as she passes the card back, wondering if he’d misjudged her. “Not exactly fair you knowing my name when I don’t know yours.”_

_“I don’t do names.” The beat picks up, becomes some sort of fast electronic race. He taps his fingers along, catching her eye._

_“And I’m not your type.” It’s blunt of him. Borderline rude. But he’s intrigued as to why she sought him out. He catches her gaze and glances at the female bartender, making sure she sees where he’s looking. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”_

_A sharp laugh. “You’re not wrong. I get the feeling you’re not wrong often, are you, Spencer Reid?”_

_Interesting. Reid glances down to where Aureilo is tucked against the stool, observing intently. He’s shadowed in the gloom of the bar, almost invisible. Dark eyes glinting against coal black fur watch him back, vivid white stripes catching the light. “ **Meles meles**. European badger. Peaceful creatures, fierce when provoked. Social. Attractive.” _

_She tilts her head and the light catches her hair, casting copper lights through it. It’s a deep auburn. Not black. He’s glad of that. “Not only social. They’ll share their setts with creatures that aren’t badgers… foxes. Rabbits. Hares. Not just their usual types.”_

_Oh, that’s interest. Reid drains his drink and turns to face her properly. “You’re trying to make her jealous.” It’s a guess._

_She looks over at the woman, who looks back and frowns. There’s history there. Reid sympathizes with her. “Does that bother you?”_

_It doesn’t.)_

Lips brush the back of his neck. His companion is awake. “Well, this is new,” says an amused voice, still thick with sleep. “I don’t normally do morning cuddles.”

He tilts his head so he can look over his shoulder. Green, almond-shaped eyes peer back at him, curved up in a smile. “Seems to be the night for new things,” he replies. His throat is tight, feeling his words turn husky and several octaves lower than usual.

_(“Your place or mine?” She slips her hand down his back trouser pocket, cupping his ass. It’s an oddly forward gesture. He glances back, raises an eyebrow. Dating Hotch hadn’t exactly led to open shows of affection._

_“Mine.”_

_“Why?” She looks at his dæmon again. Aureilo keeps his distance from the badger, and he can see her eyes stray to his ear occasionally as they walk down the street towards the cab rank. “You don’t seem the type to make a decision without good reasoning.”_

_“You’re secretive. Closed off. You don’t want me seeing your house, or knowing where you live. You indulge in risky behaviour, but you want to be able to return to your life afterwards without being reminded of me. And, despite saying you don’t do names, the first thing you did was learn mine. Ergo, you want to know more about me.”_

_“Are you some sort of shrink?”_

_He chuckles. Her hand flexes slightly. He can feel her heartbeat picking up through his side where she’s pressed against him. “Something like that.”)_

He rolls on his back as she sits up, and openly observes her. Petite face with delicate bow shaped lips, directly contrasting the sharp plane of her long, narrow nose. Light freckles across tanned skin, and wide innocent eyes under heavy eyebrows that hook at the corners. A small slender body with defined hip-bones and a slight swell of her stomach. He reaches out and traces a thumb down the curve of her breast, tracing the nipple. She smirks at him, an easy expression, unconcerned by his regard.

The whole effect is both fierce and gentle, a tantalizing mix.

“Ah, the day after regrets,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You go to bed with an eight, wake up with a three.”

He blinks. Frowns. “I told you I wouldn’t regret this. I don’t.”

_(“You’ll regret this in the morning.” He’s on his back with her straddling him, sinking down. He hisses as he enters her. “Fair warning.”_

_It’s been a long time since he was with a woman. It’s different. Not better. Not worse. Different. Still thrilling, her trust in him. Allowing him so close. He’s seen what people can do with that trust._

_“Doubt it,” he says through the rush of his blood.)_

For the first time, she looks surprised. There’s a patch of black fur on the bed next to her, her dæmon. Aureilo lies on the floor alone. “You don’t need to lie to protect my feelings, I’m not some dainty flower. I’m under no illusions about myself.”

He stands and reaches for his pants. “I don’t lie. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He scoops the pants up and glances back at her. “You’re beautiful.” He’s not complimenting her. It’s a statement of fact.

Now, she looks shocked. “I actually believe you believe that. You’re an odd one, Spencer Reid. What’s a romantic like you doing picking up strangers at a bar?”

Gathering data. He can’t tell her that. Sample size two.

And he doesn’t even know her name. It was just sex.

It was nothing like Aaron.

 

 

He moves out into the living room, the sound of his email alert echoing down the hall. He leaves her behind to get dressed, wandering over to the open laptop. Maeve’s name is highlighted in bold. He can’t help but smile, mood lifting. She doesn’t email often, but it’s always engaging when she does.

Her email today is short.

**… I was thinking of you when I glanced at the date. Guess it was fate. Happy birthday, Spencer. I wish I could be there to help make it special…**

He hadn’t forgotten, exactly. He just hadn’t thought about it. Thirty years old. _What have I done with my life…_

“It’s your birthday?” She’d come up behind him, silent as a cat. “I didn’t mean to look, my eyes caught it.”

He straightens and tries to shrug it off. “No big deal. Would you like to get breakfast?”

Her expression is oddly wistful. “I don’t do that either.” A harsh reminder that there was nothing special about this. “Of course…” She takes a step forward, slips her hands around him. He doesn’t react. “It being your birthday…” A hand smoothing over the front of his pants, thumb curving over him and pressed warmly against the material. Her breath against his neck. “We can do other things.”

He’s not really in the mood. On the other hand… he shifts slightly, feeling himself responding to her attentions. Would this still count as one piece of data? Or a separate event…

There’s a knock at the door. He knows that knock.

Well, shit.

 

 

There’s a fumbling sound on the other side and Reid wrenches opens the door. Hotch smiles brightly at him, trying not to profile the guilty slide of Reid’s eyes away from him, or the way he grips the wood tightly with white knuckles. Hal is down in the car with Jack, the distance uncomfortable but doable. He notes Reid’s eyes flickering about, searching for the dæmon.

“Hotch.” A cool greeting. Professional. Crap. He’s mad.

“Hey, Spencer.” Hotch keeps his voice light, making it obvious this isn’t a professional call. If that wasn’t already obvious from it being nine a.m on a Saturday… “This is strange of me to rock up out of the blue like this, but Jack and I are going to a science and maths expo and we thought you’d like to come along. Jack would love it if you did.”

A flicker of a delighted grin on Reid’s face replaces the guilt. “Oh! I…” He pauses and Hotch notes the red flush to his cheeks, the unevenness of his breath. _Maybe he’s sick_ , Hotch thinks with concern, trying to be surreptitious about his observations. Reid meets his gaze, and his pupils are blown wide, a narrow line of hazel around the black. “That would be…” Reid continues, but trails off again as the door is pulled from his grasp.

The woman that slips out smiles sheepishly at Hotch as she ducks under Reid’s arm. “Sorry, hon. Have to dash. Enjoy your day.”

It’s like having a bucket of ice cold water thrown over him and he’s glad that Reid isn’t meeting his gaze as the woman leaves without a backward glance, because he’s pretty sure it shows on his face. He takes a startled step back as the woman’s badger dæmon follows with short leaping bounds. “Aaron, I…” Reid starts, stammering, but Hotch shakes his head.

“Hey, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have just come here like this, it’s rude of me. I’ll… go. I should just. Alright. Thanks Reid.” He doesn’t hesitate, just turns on his heel and strides off, skin burning.

Never mind the creeping thoughts of what exactly that woman had been doing there ( _and really, he knows, because he’s seen that flush on Reid’s face before and the way his lips look when he’s been kissing someone and those eyes, he’s seen those eyes)_ , that was a mortifying position for him to have placed Reid into. It’s none of his business who Reid entertains, not anymore, and he should have called first.

Trapped in the swirl of his own thoughts, he almost crashes into the woman, lighting a smoke on the stoop of Reid’s apartment building. She quickly moves away, smiling in an offhand manner at him. When she smiles, he can see the appeal of her. There’s something in her eyes, some unspoken promise of passion that he recognises.

She smiles like Haley. It’s a strange feeling to see that smile on a stranger’s face.

“Friend?” she asks politely, tilting her head towards the door.

“His boss.” Hotch keeps his tone steady, but she still smirks. “My apologies for almost running into you, I was in a hurry.” He shouldn’t ask, but the words slip out before he can stop them, breaking his professional demeanour. “How do you know Reid?”

“Oh, is he Reid now? Not Spencer?” Her tone is insubordinate. He pities anyone who crosses her, there’s a temper behind that manner. Once again, he can hear Haley in it. “I don’t know him. Until now, I didn’t even know his name.” She stabs the cigarette out against the stucco, tossing the stub into the bin. “Nice meeting you.” And she’s gone.

Hotch stands on the stoop for what’s probably an amount of time bordering on creepy, tossing up his next move. He can see Hal sticking her head out the window of the car, wondering what’s taking him so long. Watching him.

Or watching past him.

“That was a lie,” says a mild voice, and his gut twists. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t want to see Reid right now and imagine him with a stranger. It’s his right; he’s an adult, and a single one. That doesn’t make it a comfortable thought. Hotch has always hated sharing. Reid continues, stepping up next to him and leaning against the wall, squinting into the winter bright sun: “The first thing she said to me was my name.”

“What’s hers?” He doesn’t really care. Not really.

Hazel eyes meet his. He softens, not really mad with him. “Now, that, I don’t know. She said she doesn’t do names.”

Hotch laughs, a dark mocking sound that Reid flinches away from. “She could have been a serial killer. In our line of work, I’m surprised at you.” He hates himself for sounding so cold. He needs to step away, gather himself. Operation courting Spencer Reid shot down before it had even begun.

Reid snorts. “Statistically, I’m much more likely to be a serial killer than she is. I have the knowledge base, the intelligence, the contacts. I’d be a very successful serial killer. You’d be hard pressed to stop me. What time does the expo begin?”

The sudden end to his rambling catches Hotch by surprise. He looks at him before he can stop himself. Reid’s expression is hopeful. “Hm? Oh. Ten.”

“I need to shower. Can we get breakfast before we go? I’m starved.” Hesitation. “If the offer is still open…”

The coldness is gone, replaced with a tentative optimism. “Yes, of course. Of course it is.”

Spencer bounces on his heels looking delighted. “I’ll be ten minutes,” he promises, bolting back into the building. “Don’t leave without me!”

Hotch walks back to the car feeling lighter than he had in months. It’s suddenly clear to him; he’s been going about this all wrong, doing it backwards. They can’t just step back into a relationship like a used pair of shoes, there’s too much hurt. Too much history.

But being friends again? Starting from the beginning? This they can do.

 

 

“Jack, Jack, Jack!” Reid is bouncing, excited, his eyes wild with delight. Hotch watches as he bounds around the display, peering into it with his hands waving, trying to point to everything at once. “Come look at this! It’s a Ruben’s tube—it’s an exact replica of Heinrich Ruben’s original invention from 1905, _watchwatchwatch_!” Aureilo is just as excited, doing tight little spins on the ground around Reid’s feet. Hotch marvels as always that, as clumsy as Reid can be, no matter how quickly he and the hare dance around each other, not once do they stumble. Perfect unison.

Jack peers with mild interest as the flames surge along the copper piping, forming a wave. Reid launches into an explanation, not noticing when Jack’s eyes begin to glaze over at the third mention of wavelengths.

“…gas flow is proportional to the square root of the pressure difference between the inside and outside of the tube.” Reid stops and looks at Jack, expression turning sheepish. “And there’s a biology section over there—they’ll have a zoology display no doubt that’s much more interesting than oscillating flames. Zoology being the study of animals, Jack, animals!”

Jack perks up instantly, grabbing Reid’s hand and dragging him in the direction Reid had indicated.  Hotch feels a small kick in his chest as they go, noting the way Reid bends towards Jack so the small boy can reach his hand. Even so, Jack’s hand is wrapped around Reid’s fingers, too small to cover the man’s palm. Hal makes a soft noise that echoes what Hotch is feeling and they follow after them slowly. They’re observers in this outing. Hotch wouldn’t have it any other way, watching the two people he loves most spending time together, completely engrossed in each other’s company.

He finds them in front of a large panel brightly littered with pictures of animal couples snuggling. It’s revoltingly cute. Reid’s picked Jack up, scooping him up onto his shoulders so he can see the higher pictures clearer, trying to sound out unfamiliar words with inept lips.

“Di-ur-nal,” Reid sounds out, tracing a hand across the word as he sounds it. Jack copies him, brow furrowed in concentration. “What does it mean?”

Jack studies the pictures. “I don’t know.”

Reid smiles at him, glowing with pride. Only he could look so happy at being told someone doesn’t know something, revelling in the opportunity to teach Jack things. “It means active during the day, like us.”

“Like birds? Like Tupelo and Eris?”

“Eris is an eagle owl. Owls are awake at night— ‘noc-tur-nal’. See, right here.” He points to the picture and Jack nods furiously. “But that’s a barn owl. Don’t call Eris a barn owl—she doesn’t like them. She thinks they’re common.”

“What’s Aureilo?”

The hare is itching intently at his ear with a hind leg, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “Crepuscular. Twilight hours.”

“If only,” Hal mutters. “Then I’d have daylight hours of peace.” Hotch kicks her gently, rolling his eyes at her. She calls out, bounding away from Hotch and towards them. “Read something else, Jack. Show your dad what you’ve been learning.”

“Mono… monog-ga-me.” Jack sounds carefully, frowning with frustration. “It’s hard.”

“Monogamy,” Reid supplies. “It means having one mate to raise offspring with. Interestingly, seen almost exclusively in birds, not mammals.”

Jack aims a sharp look at Hotch, and Hotch feels a trickle of apprehension on his spine. That was a look he’d seen more on Reid’s face, when the man was planning some prank on Morgan. He didn’t teach Jack that look. Arelys copies her human, cocking her head and peering up at Hotch. “People are mammals. Are we… that?”

Reid is blissfully oblivious of the trap that he’s being led into. Hotch considers helping him, decides against it. “Not always, Jack. People are more complicated than animals. Look, it has pictures of animals that are. Here’s an otter…” He trails off, seemingly sensing the atmosphere had shifted.

“There’s a picture of a wolf,” Jack declares, shifting his gaze to Hal, who shuffles her paws. “Does that mean wolves stay with the wolf they love forever?”

“Uh oh,” Hal says, glancing down at Aureilo. The hare isn’t paying attention, busy grooming his whiskers.

“If they can, yes,” Reid says, and now he looks worried. “Hey, Jack, I think there’s some ferrofluid exhibits around here, you’ll like those.”

“Do hares stay with the hare they love forever?” Hotch wonders when his son had gotten this cunning. He blames Reid. The man encourages constant questions.

“No…” Reid is trying to catch Hotch’s gaze, expression now resembling mild panic. Hotch considers whistling and leaving him to it, callously curious about where Jack was taking this. “Hares have lots of mates over their lives. Aaron, _don’t you think we should find another exhibit?_ _”_ His voice is rising in pitch, strained.

Jack’s gone dangerously quiet and Hotch decides that’s probably enough torturing for Reid. “Hey, how about we go get ice cream?” he suggests cheerily.

Reid jumps on the suggestion, sliding Jack off his shoulders and lowering him to the floor. Jack shrugs out of his grip, taking a step towards the animal pictures and scrutinizing them carefully with a stubborn jut to his lip. He puts his hand against the board, over a picture of a gambolling otter holding half a desiccated fish.

“I don’t think I like hares anymore,” he says quietly, and Arelys ripples. “I think I like the otters better.”

Hotch’s heart has skipped a beat and horror surges through him, but Reid is looking down at Jack and his face is obscured by the curtain of his hair.

“That’s okay, Jack,” Reid tells him, reaching down to take his hand and smiling sadly. “I like the otters too.”

 

 

Jack’s in the bath piling bubbles on Arelys’ head when Beth rings. He steps out, leaving Hal flopped in the doorway keeping an eye on the both of them.

“Beth, hello,” he says.

“Well, hi, there, Aaron. This is going to sound forward of me, and I know you said you had plans, but I have two concert tickets that desperately need attending and I was curious if you know any tall, dark, and handsome FBI agents interested in accompanying me?”

“Tall, dark and handsome? Well, I have a team member who may match that description… how do you feel about hip-hop?”

“I’m conflicted about it, to be completely honest.”

“Oh, that’s okay. We’re all conflicted about it. You should see Reid’s face when he gets in the SUV and Morgan’s music starts blasting.” He flinches as the words leave his mouth. _Damnit Aaron. Don’t talk about your ex when someone is asking you on a date. What would Rossi say?_

“I imagine it would very much resemble my face in the same situation. I feel a deep kinship with this Reid.”

_If only you knew._

A loud splash and squeal emits from the bathroom and Hotch hears the sound of Hal surging to her feet, paws clattering on the tiles as she lets out a single booming bark of surprise. Jack’s laughter follows, loud and delighted.

“Somebody is having a ball,” Beth comments, and he can hear laughter in her voice as well. “Company, Aaron?”

“My son,” he tells her, quickly walking up to the bathroom and peering in. “It’s bath time in the madhouse.” Hal is on her feet and her eyes are wide with shock. Hotch takes a look and stops as well. He doesn’t know how to feel. Jack laughs and throws bubbles in the air as the newly shaped Arelys dives from the side of the bath smoothly into the water, sinuous form cutting through the liquid easily. She surfaces, bristling whiskers twitching on a cheeky, smooth furred form.

“She swims now!” Jack crows as the otter dives again and swirls around him, blowing bubbles as she goes. Hotch can hear her tail battering against the side of the tub as she turns.

“Aaron?”

“I’m here,” he says, swallowing whatever emotions are trying to surface. “When did you say the concert is?”

When he tucks Jack into bed later that night and Arelys is a hare again, snuggled against Jack’s chest, he wonders what it means.

For all of them.

 

 

Hotch agrees to let Jack stay over one weekend, and Reid’s rarely seen the kid so excited.

“We’ll be fine,” Reid tells Hotch firmly, picking up Jack’s bag with one hand. Arelys is bouncing around Aureilo, trying to make him dizzy. He sits with forced poise, eyes firmly closed. “I found a bunch of documentaries he’ll love.”

“In English I hope,” Hotch teases. His expression turns serious. “Reid… I…” He coughs, and smooths down the corner of his suit jacket. Reid tenses, recognising the signs of bad news. “I’m seeing Beth.”

Expected. Good. It’s a good thing.

“I’m very happy for you both,” Reid says carefully. He’s not lying. They’re friends. Friends are happy for each other when they find new relationships.

It’s a comfort to find that he truly is happy for him, even if it is bittersweet.


	25. Not as many. Not as fast.

Jack’s eating his dinner when there’s a soft knock at his door. He doesn’t recognise it, the reluctance unfamiliar. He leaves Jack under the watchful eye of Aureilo to answer it.

He’s never seen her like this before.

“Emily?” he asks, taking in her ruffled appearance and reddened eyes. She shoves a lock of hair back, dark strands catching on her fingers, biting at her lip anxiously. Her nails are bloodied.

“Hey Spencer,” she says huskily. “Are you busy?”

Jack laughs from inside the apartment and she freezes like a hunted rabbit. Sergio is winding between her legs in tight circles, tail lashing. “Jack’s having a sleepover,” Reid tells her, stepping forward and grabbing her hand, examining the cuticles. “You need to clean these. They’re open.” He’s choking on worry. Emily is the collected one. The one who always knows what she’s doing or where she’s going.

Right now, she’s lost. And she’s come to him.

She shudders and nods, stepping into his apartment. He follows her silently, catching Aureilo’s eyes when the hare hops out. He doesn’t need to speak. The hare knows where he’s needed. It takes two bounds to reach Sergio and playfully box at his shoulder.

“Hi, Jack,” Emily greets the boy, smiling brightly at him. She looks almost normal like this. Effortlessly slipping into a mask. Reid wonders how often she’s worn that mask around them recently. “Do you remember me?”

Jack peers at her with his sharp gaze, and Reid wonders just how much Jack knows about her. Would Hotch have tackled that discussion with him? _This is Emily, she died but then she came back._ _Not like your Mom._

Reid wouldn’t blame him if he hadn’t.

“You work with Daddy,” Jack says. “You’re a hero too.”

Emily laughs, and the sound is strained. “Yes, I do.”

Jack picks at his dinner. “We’re having a sleepover,” he says excitedly, drumming his feet against the chair. “Are you going to have a sleepover with us?”

She laughs again, more relaxed this time. Even Emily has trouble keeping her shields up around the exuberant four-year old. “No, I just came to visit. But I bet you guys will have a blast!” She’s close enough that he can smell alcohol on her breath. And smoke, like a bar. Either that, or she’d taken it up herself. He wonders if she drove.

“Stay,” Aureilo cuts in suddenly, bumping his head against the cat’s side. “We’re watching documentaries about castles.” He looks up, and his tone turns sly. “Jack would love it if you did, wouldn’t you, Jack?”

Jack quickly agrees and Reid sees her hesitate, tempted. She doesn’t want to go home. Haunted. He knows that feeling. She had been on the run for seven months.

Sometimes, it’s hard to know when to stop running.

“Stay,” he repeats, touching her hand. She shouldn’t be alone like this. “Please?”

She looks away, her hand lifts out of his, twitching as though she has to restrain herself from biting at it. “You know,” she says slowly. “If we’re going to be watching shows about castles, we should make our own.” Her expression turns wicked, a childish sort of glee wiping away the fear. “Got any spare bedding, Spencer?”

 

 

Dinner is wonderful. Beth is charming, polite, funny. She’s everything he looks for in a woman. Coop and Hal eventually begin to gravitate together, their determination to avoid each other fading as the night continues. They go to the concert and there’s something about the sweeping overtures that makes it impossible for him not to slide an arm around her waist and pull her closer as they exit the theatre, blood singing with the atmosphere of the night.

He doesn’t think of Spencer. Much.

“This is the part of the evening where a gentleman would walk me to my door and kiss me goodnight,” she teases him as they slide into his car, her dress catching the glitter of the streetlights and coming alive around the curves of her body.

“Did I give the impression I was a gentleman?” he responds, smiling warmly at her and seeing her eyes darken slightly. “I’m afraid you may have been misled.” She laughs and leans over, pulling his mouth down to meet hers. It’s not a chase kiss; it’s damp and there’s a longing to it that’s coming from both of them. Two lonely souls, looking for something in each other. He wonders if he’s what she’s looking for.

He doesn’t think about whether she has what he desires.

He takes her home and she pauses inside, looking at a picture on the wall. He flinches when he sees it. Jack and Spencer. He’d thought about taking it down, decided against it. Jack’s looking at the camera, laughing. A baby still. On Reid’s knee with Arelys a flicker of blurred grey fur at his side; a kitten swiping at the barest hint of a hare’s tail cut off by the frame. Before Foyet.

“He’s not just your friend, is he?” she asks gently.

“I have pictures of Rossi on the wall too,” he defends himself. Too quickly. She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, at a conference. Suits and ties and polished shoes.” She reaches up, touches the glass covering Reid’s face. “Not dressed casually, holding your son, and looking at the person holding the camera as though they’re the only thing in the world that matters.”

He should take that picture down.

Later.

“We were… more,” he admits finally, closing his eyes against the rush of disappointment. “Not now. Not for a while. He’s still important to Jack.”

“He’s still important to you,” she corrects him, taking his hand and pulling him towards the stairs. The bedroom. “That doesn’t change anything about this.”

“Doesn’t it?” It should. Rossi had predicted it would. He really needs to get Rossi out of his head, his conscience is starting to sound arrogant and vaguely Italian.

“Not if you don’t let it.”

He doesn’t.

 

 

Jack and Emily have ganged up on him, which will be Spencer’s defence when Hotch gets there in the morning and finds the six of them sprawled into a pillow and sheet fort that, thanks to Emily’s weirdly specific knowledge of sheet structural integrity and Spencer’s rigid adherence to apartment OHAS, spans the entirety of the living room. Reid lies under the canopy of carefully arranged bedding with the sound of their quiet breathing next to him, and wonders how anyone could ever voluntarily walk away from this. Reaching over the sleeping child to grab the remote and switch the TV off, he’s never felt more vulnerable.

Without the light from the screen, Jack’s face is lit by the soft gleam of the hallway light filtered through the pale sheets. Emily is on the other side of Jack, curled away from them, tucked into a ball. Self-contained. Distant. But still there. Reid memorises this moment, innocent and perfect, and holds it close. He’s learned to treasure the good times.

He doesn’t think Hotch would ever take this away from him, not while Jack still wants it, but Beth can offer them so much more than he ever could.

Emily? She’ll do what she has to. He knows that. And he’ll be there for her, no matter how much it hurts.

If she has to go, he’ll hold the door open for her.

“Stop thinking,” Aureilo mumbles sleepily, curled around the snoring Arelys. Sergio is the barest suggestion of black fur on the other side of him, his sluggishly rumbling purr barely audible. “You’ll need your energy in the morning for when Aaron gets here and asks why you let his kid sleep on the living room floor under a sheet.”

Reid is quiet for a moment, memories of his own childhood and the snippets he’d picked up from Aaron’s floating in his mind. “Somehow, I don’t think he’ll mind,” he replies quietly.

This was something neither of them had ever had. It’s something neither of them will ever give up for Jack.

 

 

Reid wakes up one morning and knows instantly what day it is. The downside of his memory.  He rolls over and pulls a pillow over his head and tries not to think of standing by Hotch’s bookshelf at the start of something new.

They could have had so much more time. If it wasn’t for Hankel and Foyet, they would have.

Their job demands sacrifice.

 

 

It’s not until lunchtime that Hotch realizes.

Morgan is bickering with Emily in the squad room with Reid happily pointing out the logical fallacies in their arguments. Hotch watches them and speculates on how long this family of theirs can last.

“He’s an odd duck, that one,” Rossi hums, walking out of his office and glancing down right as Morgan aims a half-hearted swipe at Reid’s ear. “He still surprises me. Hard to believe I’ve known the kid five years now.”

“Five years, really?” Hotch says distractedly.

“To the day. As he informed me over the percolator this morning. In great… _great_ … detail.”

“Oh,” says Hal, and her shoulders slump. Hotch stares at her, trying to work out what’s upset her. It only takes him a second.

Oh.

“Five years,” he murmurs, watching Reid lean back in his chair and laugh, looking relaxed and happy. And alone.

It wasn’t long enough.

 

 

Reid buys Jack a globe for his birthday, elegantly layer with the countries of the world. He traces his fingers over the uneven surface, the delicate lettering naming each locale. It’s beautiful. Reid had one just like it when he was younger. He used to spin it and let his finger trace over the surface as it went; calculating where it would land. When he was right, he’d imagine what life would be like there.

When he was wrong, he’d thought of life where he was.

Hotch answers the door with a party hat perched crookedly on his head and his ‘talking to reporters’ smile firmly in place. It vanishes when he processes that it’s Reid and Aureilo at the door, replaced with a much warmer one. His gaze lingers for a long moment around Reid’s throat, the scarf covering it.

“I bring the gift of knowledge,” Reid says with a shy smile, holding the shabbily wrapped present out. Hotch looks down at it, gaze remaining on a stray tab of sticky tape hanging off one side, a tuft of tan fur trapped under it.

“Hey, no one ever taught us how to wrap presents,” Aureilo defends them, sitting upright. “He’s about as handy as a sea sponge and evolution didn’t grant me opposable thumbs.”

“Spencer!” Jack screams, hurtling between his dad’s legs and clinging to Reid’s knee. Reid stumbles back, heel slipping on the stoop, and almost tips backwards. Hotch moves faster, grabbing the front of his jacket and pulling him upright.

“Whoa, buddy!” Hotch says with a strangled laugh. “Let’s not kill Spencer until _after_ he’s given you his present, okay?”

Something darts around Hotch and gambols around Reid’s legs in a happy dance. Reid blinks, looking down and staring at the glossy-coated otter smiling whiskerly up at him. “Arelys?”

“It’s our birthday!” she trills, tackling Aureilo and nipping playfully at his ear. “We’re five!”

“Happy birthday, Jack,” Reid tells him proudly, ducking down and brushing his lips against soft blonde hair. “And you, Arelys.”

Someone calls out Jack’s name and he vanishes back into the house, following the sounds of laughing children. Arelys bats at Aureilo’s ear once more before chasing after him, claws clattering on the floorboards.

“She’s shifted again,” Reid says, barely able to contain his delight. “Aaron, that’s fantastic!”

Hotch’s eyebrow lifts. “You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be?” Reid is genuinely confused, studying Hotch intently. “This means what happened with… it means he’s recovering, Hotch. Foyet tried to hurt you both, but he’s already fading from Jack’s memory. That’s how it should be.”

Hotch’s face brightens, the smile softening and becoming something warm and glowing. It’s a smile that Reid’s only seen a few times before, and almost always aimed at his son.

A woman with neat brown hair and a kind face appears behind Hotch. “Aaron, it’s freezing. Why are you standing out the front?” A husky appears behind her, peering around and focusing on Aureilo.

Ah. Beth.

Hotch steps to the side. “Beth, this is my… colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid and his dæmon Aureilo. Reid, this is Beth and Coop.”

Beth smiles warmly at them, but her eyes are considering. “Dr. Reid, lovely to meet you. Hello, Aureilo.” She looks down at the hare, studying the ragged scar on the hare’s head. “I’ve always loved hares. So tremendously streamlined. Coop wishes he was as lovely as you.”

The flicker of conceited delight from Aureilo is expected, and Reid has to fight not to roll his eyes as the hare preens. “We are noble animals indeed,” he says proudly, puffing out his chest. “I like this one, Aaron. You have good taste.”

Hotch coughs and Reid wonders just how much Beth knows. He has the odd sensation that he’s become the dirty secret of the Hotchner household. “I should go,” he says softly, handing the package to Hotch and turning back to his car. “Have a great day, everyone. Was wonderful meeting you, Beth.”

“Take care,” she says, waving after them.

Hotch doesn’t say anything, just watches him go with an inscrutable expression.

 

 

“Doing anything for Christmas, Boy Wonder?” Morgan asks on his way out the door. His eyes on Reid, but Reid can tell his mind is already in Chicago.

“Going to see Mom,” Reid lies, because Hotch is near enough that Hal will hear him if he says otherwise. He doesn’t think of his mom’s doctors quietly suggesting that a visit is unwise in her current condition, and he certainly doesn’t think of a Christmas tree in a house that was filled with so much more life than his current apartment.

“Give her my regards,” Morgan says with a grin, ruffling his hair and practically bolting for the door. Naemaria licks Aureilo’s face, panting hotly into the damp fur with a doggy smile.

“Merry Christmas, little bunny,” she tells him, before bounding after her human.

Emily hugs him as she leaves, but her eyes linger suspiciously. He considers asking her to come over for Christmas, wonders if she’s going to be alone. Thinks of the empty cupboards of his pantry and the sparse fridge. Filled with Jack’s favourites and little else. He can’t quite bring himself to ask, and she leaves without sharing her plans.

 

 

His cell buzzes non-stop Christmas morning as he watches Jack sit quietly by the tree, examining his gifts. It’s a subdued Christmas, haunted by the faces missing from the room. He tries to pretend he’s not waiting for one particular buzzing. That doesn’t stop him from lunging every time it hums, until the text he’s waiting for finally arrives:

**Reid – Merry Christmas, Aaron & Hal. Give Jack a hug for us. Best wishes.**

 

His cell beeps once. Well, twice, but from the same person, really.

**Aaron – Merry Christmas, Spencer. Aur too. Hope your mom is well. Love Aaron and Jack.**

**Aaron – and Hal**

He puts the phone down without answering and lays back on the couch, wrapping his dressing gown around himself. His laptop hums on the table in front of him, light flickering on the screen from the muted TV set. His apartment is silent.

He reaches over and taps the send button on the laptop as well.

**…. Merry Christmas, Maeve. Thinking of you….**

 

Strangely, considering his determination of the last year to keep moving forward, Reid finds that he’s the only one left standing still. Hotch has Beth and Reid can see the subtle changes in him that she brings. He knows Hotch won’t have seen them, but he’d spent over five years knowing the man intimately, and he knows what it looks like when Hotch begins to fall in love.

It’s slow. Reluctant. But it’s there. And it breaks Reid’s heart, just as much as it pleases him that Hotch is okay.

Emily doesn’t talk about the night that brought her to Reid’s door, and he doesn’t ask. One day, he might. One day, he’ll have to. But as long as she still wants to be there, he’ll wait.

JJ has Will. Garcia has Kevin. Even Morgan buys more houses, fixes them up. Keeps on keeping on. Reid goes to work and goes home. Considers going out. Makes excuses. He doesn’t bring home another stranger. He’d gotten his answer from that experiment. It was just sex, and Reid has little interest in that because it reminds him far too much of the alternative.

Then comes San Francisco and the Zodiac copycat, and Reid begins to wonder if his whole life has been a mistake. He’s done so little with any of it. Has he actually done anything that matters?

“Here’s me,” he says into the mirror of the bathroom, water dripping off his chin. “Mr. Wasted Potential.”

“What does that make me?” Aureilo asks cuttingly, flattening his ear and glaring at him.

He presses his forehead against the mirror, feeling a low throbbing start up in his skull. “So much less than you should have been.”

 

 

They all have cases that reflect back, showing them parts of themselves that maybe they’d rather ignore. This one seemed to be Reid’s.

“Is he alright?” Morgan asks, watching Reid feverishly shuffle through the mountain of comments he’d requested printed. “He looks… manic.”

“He’s always manic,” Hotch deflects. Morgan doesn’t look convinced.

“How smart would a person have to be to write code like that?” Hotch asks Reid later that day, and the man twitches slightly. There’s a cup of dark, bitter coffee in his hand, his fourth in as many hours. He’s been mainlining it.

“Beyond smart. Profoundly gifted. An IQ of at least 160.” He frowns, looks at his shoes. Hotch can see the corner of his mouth twisting in something resembling distaste, and apprehension crawls up Hotch’s spine. Okay, perhaps he’s a little more manic than usual.

“That changes the profile, then,” Emily suggests.

Reid shrugs. His foot is tapping frantically against the floor as his leg jiggles restlessly. Hotch makes a mental note to hide the coffeepot. “The unsub could still hold a menial or low-level job. Many believe that beyond an IQ of 120, success is determined by other factors.”

Ah. Morgan catches his gaze and there’s a defeated kind of triumph in his dark eyes. _Told you he wasn’t alright,_ his expression screams.

Hotch should talk to him. He’s not sure if _he_ can talk to him. Friends again they might be, but not anywhere near the level where Reid will be comfortable sharing something like this with him. Hotch can see the doubt creeping into hazel eyes, the sneaking suspicion that he’s failing to live up to expectations. He’s seen it enough in the mirror, growing up and now. Expectations at work, expectations as a father.

He can’t imagine how much heavier those expectations would be as a prodigy.

When Reid walks out, Emily follows. Hotch can’t help but feel relieved.

 

 

“I don't know why I'm in the FBI.” The words cost him everything to say.

Emily’s mouth twitches. “I see. You’re a genius, but you have the same job as me, Morgan, JJ.”

His mouth moves before his brain can stop it. “Yeah, exactly.” She snorts. “Wait, no, that’s not what I’m saying.” He can’t help but laugh at the look on her face, the tension breaking.

“Sometimes we think we should have done more,” Aureilo finishes off for him, leaning against his leg. “We thought we’d… we thought we’d have cured schizophrenia by twenty-five.”

Emily looks sad. “Ah, come on. You’re only, what? Twenty-nine?”

“I’m thirty.”

Her face falls. “We missed your birthday? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It wasn’t important.” He doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t want her pity.

“Point is, there’s still time. And you’re saving lives, every day. You think those lives don’t matter?”

“You’d have saved them without us.”

It’s Sergio who answers, his deep voice stern. “Not as many. Not as fast.”

 

 

Rossi’s head is tucked close to Emily’s, whispering. Sergio and Eris sit close together, the cat’s tail twined around sharp talons. They’re an unlikely pair. Hotch finds that it’s highly unsettling to see them together. They’re planning something, he can feel it. “Prentiss, Rossi,” he greets them coolly. “Problem?”

Rossi looks at him and for a second, he looks angry. “It’s not important,” he says, his voice mocking. Yep. Definitely angry.

Emily kicks him, smirking when he winces. “We forgot Reid’s birthday.” Her tone is impassive, but Rossi glares at him with a clear, “ _You forgot Reid’s birthday, idiot,”_ on the tip of his tongue.

Shit. His gut drops with the realization. _Wait, but that would have been… months ago. Shit._ He’s thirty now. No wonder he’s worrying about whether he’s wasted his talents.

Rossi straightens and smooths his jacket down. “Fortunately,” he says with a grin. “We have a plan.”

 

 

He looks stunned as they shout ‘Surprise!’ at him. Emily laughs and pushes him towards them, and he disappears under a sea of arms as they swarm him. Hotch thinks that maybe this is the first surprise party he’s ever had.

He tries not to dwell on that.

Reid eventually surfaces and turns to Hotch, a silly kind of grin splitting his face. Hotch tries not to respond to that and fails, smiling back. “Do you feel thirty?” he teases.

“Feel thirty?” Reid wrinkles his nose. “Sometimes, I’m not ever sure I’m an adult at all, let alone thirty.”

“You’re not the only one who feels like that,” Rossi assures him with a snigger.

“Why didn’t you tell us we forgot your birthday?” Hotch asks him later as they leave the BAU side by side. The air is crisp and clear and bites at exposed skin. Their shoulders brush against each other as they exit the doors. Hotch thinks of Beth.

Reid shrugs, face still flushed with excitement. He’d had fun. “Everyone had bigger stuff going on. It didn’t seem important.”

Hotch grabs his arm and pulls him around to face him. Reid’s eyes widen and he freezes. Hal and Aureilo watch from ahead, heads tilted. “Don’t ever say that,” Hotch says, his voice rough. He can’t bear to hear that from the most brilliant person he knows. If Reid thinks he’s unimportant, what does that make the rest of them? “Don’t put yourself down like that. You are always, _always_ , important to us, Spencer. Whatever it is, whatever you need, you come to us. Okay?”

He’s breathing heavily and Reid looks like he’s about to crawl out of his skin in shock. “Yes,” the other man says softly. “Of course.”

Hotch doesn’t believe him. He can only hope.

 

 

The day comes for him to ask, spurred on in part by Hotch’s startling declaration weeks before. _“You are always important.”_

There are others who need to know that as well. Beginning with Emily.

He waits by her car for her. After she pulls her gun on him, it occurs to him that maybe that wasn’t the brightest of ideas.

“Would you have actually shot me?” he asks her after his heart-rate slows to a reasonable pace again. She shoots him a dismayed look, skin ghostly grey in the dingy lighting of the carpark.

“I was in witness protection looking over my shoulder daily, for seven months,” she states, eyebrows drawing together dangerously. “I come home and now I hunt serial killers, and I’m still not convinced Rossi isn’t planning on murdering us all as a plot for his next book. What do you think, genius?”

“I think we should confiscate your gun,” Aureilo mutters from under the car. He’d shot under there as soon as Emily’s weapon had come out and is refusing to emerge. Sergio had joined him, chuckling darkly at the indignant expression the hare had levelled at him.

“Any reason you decided to give me a heart attack?” she asks eventually.

He thinks of how Hotch would do this, careful and precise. He’d make her come to the conversation, put her so at ease that she’d volunteer the information he wanted. JJ would look worried and motherly and have the perfect words ready to help. Morgan would scowl and start a snippy argument, until eventually Emily would get so frustrated she’d shout the answer he wanted just to make him stop. And as soon as she did, he’d be there for her, strong and resolute and loyal as hell.

Reid can’t do any of those things.

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”

She closes her eyes, reels slightly. “I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know where I belong anymore, Spencer.” Opens them again. They’re tired and it makes him hurt to look at them. She has shadows around them that match his. “I don’t think it’s here anymore.” It’s his own thoughts in her voice, but with more feeling behind them. In his heart, he knows he belongs here.

In his heart, he knows she doesn’t anymore.

He nods and tries to channel JJ, find those perfect words. He can’t even manage Garcia. She can make someone feel precious and needed just by looking at them. He can’t put his feelings in a single expression, can’t find the words to tell her how much she belongs.

“I’m not Elle,” she says finally as the silence grows painful. “I’m not going to walk away and never come back. I’m not Gideon.”

He knows that. “I know what it’s like to lose your place,” he says eventually, looking up and at her and hoping everything he can’t say is visible to her. She’s damned good at her job. He knows she’ll pick up on at least some of it. She does. Her face softens, eyes shiny. “You have to do what you can to find it again. Do me one favour?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“Of course I won’t. How could I ever do that to you?”


	26. Grieving comes later.

“Am I early?” Beth smiles at him, Coop bounding forward to greet Hal with an exuberance Hotch almost envies. He doesn’t think Hal has ever greeted anyone with quite that much excitement, except Aureilo.

Hal stands with quiet dignity and brushes her muzzle quickly against Coop’s ear, the husky only standing to just over her shoulder in height.

“No, no, we’re running late,” Hotch reassures her, pulling her in for a kiss. They’re interrupted by Jack appearing behind him, hair wildly sticking out in all directions and still in his pyjamas.

“Beth! Come look at our fort!” he shrieks, dancing on the spot and almost slipping, his socks failing to find friction. Arelys shifts rapidly into something tall and gangly, steadying her human, before dropping back into her favoured otter form. Hotch blinks, the shift happening too quickly for him to process.

“You made a fort?” Beth asks, taking his hand to avoid any more falls.

“Emily and Spencer taught us,” Jack says proudly, tugging her towards the living room. “We slept in there all night!”

Beth glances back at Hotch, biting her lip as though trying to imagine Hotch sleeping in a pillow fort. He tries his best to look straight-faced. “He’s been obsessed with castles since he stayed at Reid’s,” he tells her. “It was this, or we turn the garden bed into a moat.”

“I’m jealous,” she says, laughing as soon as she sees their efforts. One side of it is drooping, knocked over by Hal in the night. “It’s… beautiful.”

“Dad’s not as good at building as Spencer,” Jack says sombrely. “He needs to be taught better. Will you stay over tonight in our fort too?”

He catches Beth’s eye as she looks up at him, a question in her expression. “Could she?” he asks gently, winking at her.

“I think she’d like that very much.” She drops to her knees and peers in through the opening. “But, I think we may need to do some renovations first.”

 

 

“My fez is slipping.” Tupelo flaps his wings, tilting his head to try and stop the hat from falling off. Garcia makes a frustrated noise, reaching up to fix it back on. “Pen, there’s a reason they don’t make hats for birds.”

“I think it looks dashing,” Reid reassures them, trying not to laugh at the sight of the magpie in a fez and bowtie. “Almost as good as Aureilo.”

There’s a clatter as the robot next to Reid stumbles again. “This is embarrassing,” the cardboard dog grumbles in Aureilo’s voice. “You know, this only worked in the actual show because Baker’s dæmon was an actual terrier. Not a hare. Boxes aren’t made to _hop_.”

Reid frowns at him. “Aur, this was your idea. I was all for making you a scarf to match mine.” He flicks the end of the scarf for emphasis, smirking as the robot dog recoils in horror. “I spent weeks on it.”

“Shut down by your dæmon,” Penelope giggles, having finally gotten the hat to sit steady on Tupelo’s feathered head again. Reid pouts. “Aww, don’t be like that. I’m glad you came with me.” She loops her arm through Reid’s and beams at him, glancing around at the other costumed groups entering the convention doors. Suddenly, her grip on his arm tightens painfully. “Oh my god, it’s Kevin. Oh no. Oh no, hide me, Spencer, _hide me.”_ She tries, unsuccessfully, to duck behind his back, Tupelo warbling in worry.

“Oh… hi, Penelope. Spencer.” Reid groans inwardly as Kevin stops in front of them, a red-headed woman at his side. “Nice… costumes.” He adjusts his own eleventh Doctor costume awkwardly, flushing red as he notes the resemblance to Garcia’s. His cockatoo dæmon peers over his shoulder, bowtie firmly in place.

“Heckle doesn’t have to wear a fez,” Tupelo complains quietly. Much like his human, his quiet isn’t quite as quiet as he’d intended it to be.

“We couldn’t get it to stay on her crest,” Kevin admits, running a finger over the bird’s smooth head. His dæmon responds by lifting said crest, the bright yellow feathers standing out starkly against her white.

“We used Velcro,” Penelope says, slipping out from behind Reid and acknowledging him finally. “I didn’t… didn’t know you were coming today. And CSU Technician Sharp, hello.” She glares at the woman and her Dalmatian dæmon, both decked out in police vests. The woman raises a hand in a half-hearted greeting, looking nervous.

“Okay, time to go!” Garcia says abruptly, grabbing Reid’s arm and tugging him away from the door. Reid makes a soft noise of protest, looking back at the entrance longingly.

“You’re not going in?” Kevin calls after them curiously.

“Nope!” she shouts, moving more insistently. Reid stops fighting and lets himself be pulled away, his long-awaited Saturday evaporating before his eyes. Aureilo tries to keep up and fails, bumping his cardboard nose into several peoples’ ankles, and almost getting flattened by a Vulcan. “We went in and it was _super_ lame, so we’re leaving. Bye!”

She releases him on the edge of the crowd, eyes tear bright. “Well,” Reid begins, rubbing his arm, and peering through the crowd of legs for the boxy form of his hare. “That was awkward.”

“I can’t believe he brought someone else.” Garcia looks like she’s about to cry. Reid her on the arm in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “We used to come here every year.”

“You brought someone else,” Reid reminds her. K9 appears at his side, looking distinctly worse for wear. Reid can hear muffled swearing coming from the inside, and his ears burn.

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be sexually attracted to!” she exclaims. Reid processes that.

“You’re… welcome?” Aureilo says finally, shaking the head of the costume off and glaring at Garcia with his whiskers bristling.

Garcia isn’t paying attention anymore. “Is that Strauss?”

Reid turns to look and has to blink a few times to be sure he’s not hallucinating as he sees who’s with her. “Is that… Rossi?” The two exit the hotel across the road together, breaking apart at the door. Rossi scans the crowd, and pauses when he sees his two colleagues openly gawking at him. Reid can almost tell the exact moment when the man realizes it’s them, his shoulders slumping somewhat.

“Oh, wait until I tell Hal about _this_ ,” Aureilo says gleefully.

 

 

So much for his quiet Saturday.

“Why are we here?” Rossi asks, eyeing the bank. SWAT and the police swarm around them. Further back, Hotch can hear the shouts of reporters at the police lines, camera crews craning for a view of the situation.

“Crisis negotiation is overseas,” Hotch says, eyeing JJ. She’s standing next to Will, looking exasperated. “Will was first on scene, he shot one of them. We have footage on the inside, it looks pretty bad.”

Rossi nods, expression serious. “These things are always bad.”

It gets worse.

“I want to talk to the cop who shot my brother.”

Hotch sees JJ’s face drain of blood, the same time that Will’s turns stubborn. Hotch has seen that look before, he knows it intimately. It’s the first time he’s seen it from the outside.

Reid, right before taking off his vest on a train full of hostages. Stepping between Hotch’s gun and a teenaged unsub to save his life. Walking towards a terrified unsub on a psychotic break to try and get him to put down the knife. And, every time, Hotch watching and looking just like JJ does now, waiting for the worst.

“No one else needs to die because of what I did,” Will states in his soft drawl, avoiding eye contact with JJ. Kailo flutters frantically around his dæmon’s ears, the Alsatian laying them back stubbornly and ignoring the soft, whispering calls of the butterfly.

“This isn’t about you,” JJ snaps, shooting a desperate look at Hotch. _Don’t let him, don’t let him_ , that look screams. _What if this was you? It has been you!_ “Risking your life won’t bring them back.”

“Sorry, Will,” Hotch tells him firmly, siding with JJ. He can’t watch one of his team lose a person they love. He can’t watch someone else suffer through that again.

 

 

Reid glances up at the feed, hearing a quiet gasp from Garcia. “What’s going on? Garcia?” Her eyes are locked on the screen, mouth hanging open in horror. Reid’s heart stops as he realizes that something has gone utterly wrong. _Hotch, not Hotch, please not Aaron I can’t stand it…_

“Will,” she murmurs.

If possible, that’s worse.

 

 

He can’t stop Will.

But he can stop JJ.

She fights him, lashing out wildly, screaming after the man she loves as he walks to his probable death. Morgan grabs her arm, tries to get her to calm down, but Hotch knows she can’t. There’s no calming down in this situation, there’s no stepping back.

“Will! No, no no no, please, let me go, Will! Stop him!”

“I can’t,” Hotch gasps, pulling her back into his arms. She’s stiff with tension, shaking. Abruptly, as though she’s a puppet with her strings suddenly cut, she sags in his grip and lets out a long, pained moan. “Please, Will,” she whimpers, closing her eyes and gasping for air.

If this goes wrong, she’s never going to forgive him.

He meets Rossi’s horrified gaze and realizes that if this goes wrong, he’s never going to forgive himself.

 

 

Will walks in and they shoot him. Reid doesn’t make a sound, just watches uncomprehendingly as the feed is cut. The screen is blank, but the image of Will buckling as his white shirt blooms red stays burned into his mind.

“Is he alive or dead, Garcia? Did Mia… did Mia dissipate?” Aureilo asks quietly. “Where did they shoot him?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Mia was still there, she fell. He might be okay.”

“Might be,” Reid repeats. He’s not sure if it’s a statement, or a prayer.

 

 

“We need to go inside.” She’s calm again, but there’s a gleam to her eyes that he doesn’t trust.

“It’s too risky,” Morgan says, suspicious as well. “We don’t have eyes in there anymore.”

JJ’s hand reaches up to her hair and brushes it, as though searching for comfort. Hotch glances at it, frowns as he notes something missing.

Kailo.

“Yes, we do,” she says numbly, dropping her hand down again. Her eyes are glazed, and he should have realized that it wasn’t just with shock. They’re glazed with the pain of a stretched link; as two beings pull against the bond between them. He tastes bile in his throat and, for a moment, he can smell offal cooking on a smoky woodstove. “We do.”

 

 

Reid’s skating on the thin edge of panic and he can’t imagine how JJ is faring. He’d watched Jack lose his mom. He can’t stand the idea of watching Henry lose his dad as well.

“I should be there,” he says, but Garcia grabs his arm and pulls him back. There’s a scuffle by the door, Aureilo darting back and forth as Tupelo hops at him, wings spread and cawing threateningly. He pecks at the hare every time he ducks near the door, herding him back with a stabbing beak. “We’ve learned everything we can from here!”

“No, you can help more by helping me,” she snaps, pushing him back into his seat. “There's a lot to go over and your brain works faster than mine.”

He takes a deep breath. Compartmentalizes. They need to stop this, now. For JJ. For Will.

For Henry.

“Okay.”

 

 

The bank explodes and JJ screams as though she’s being torn in two. For all Hotch knows, she could be.

“Kailo!” howls Hal through the ringing in their ears, and Hotch sees Rossi turn and stare at the wolfdog like she’s a ghost, the realization sinking in. His eyes slide to JJ, half buckled and clutching at her chest, and back to the wolfdog. Eris takes to the air, great wings silent and beak open as she too calls for the small dæmon.

Not again. _Not again._

“Where’s Emily?” shouts Morgan nearby. Rossi steels himself, running out in front of them, gun drawn. Hotch follows. They need to hold it together. If need be, grieving comes later. JJ doesn’t follow yet and he wonders if she can. Eris swoops past, the greater range of the owl dæmon meaning she reaches the bank before them and weaves through the rubble without care. Hal stays by his side, eyes wild with fear, nose almost bumping into the back of his knee as they move in.

Emily. Sergio. Will. Kailo. _JJ._

If need be, grieving comes later.

 

 

_“Again, breaking news—an explosion at Colonial Liberty Bank, killing a possible twenty-four hostages and an unknown number of law enforcement agents.”_

“I can’t get through,” Garcia moans. “Even the SAT phone has a busy signal. What do we do?”

Reid stands. The world swims slightly around him, vision tunnelling, as though he’d gotten up too quickly and staggered. Fallen. Except that there’s no ground beneath him at the moment, and if he falls there’s nothing to catch him. He tries not to chant the names of his team in his head, as though by refusing to acknowledge the fact that they’re there will keep them safe.

“We’re going down there,” Aureilo says firmly.

Reid follows his dæmon and doesn’t say anything, switching to his methodical, agent side. His back straightens, he moves with purpose. They all knew it, they’d all been taught what to do if an agent— _if all the agents, all your friends, everyone—_ went down during a raid.

Grieving comes later.

 

 

They find Emily. Then, JJ finds them, smeared with dirt and looking shell-shocked and unheeding. “I can’t find Will,” she says loudly, holding her hand up to her ear. Or her hair. Searching. Looking uncertain when she fails to find what she’s looking for.

Kailo wouldn’t stay away from her if he had a choice.

Hotch tries not to think of delicate paper-thin wings shredded by an explosion and studies the remains of the lobby. Emily is crouched by the survivors, Sergio at her side. Both their gazes are locked on JJ.

“Where’s Kailo?” Emily asks suddenly. “JJ, where’s Kailo?” Running footsteps behind them and Emily’s face turns furious. “What are you doing here?” she hisses, and he knows who it is even before he turns.

“You should be at Quantico running point,” he says firmly to Reid, anger turning him cold. The only thing that had been keeping him steady was the knowledge that Reid was safe, and now he isn’t anymore; he’s right there in hell along with the rest of them.

Reid only has eyes for JJ, and Hotch can tell that he _knows_ as soon as he looks at her.

He would.

“I’m here now,” he says, walking up to her and grabbing her shoulders with both hands, turning her to face him. “JJ, look at me. You can feel him. You know where he is. You just don’t recognise it because he’s always been by your side before, but you can find him. He’s not gone, trust me.”

_Trust me._

Aureilo hops forward, long ear swivelling back and forth, listening. The remains of the other are pointed firmly at the two agents. He focuses on JJ, his ear acting independently of his eyes. “He’s a part of you, you know him better than anything else in the world. You can always find each other, no matter how far he goes.”

JJ shudders and her eyes narrow. Some focus returns. Reid’s stare doesn’t leave her face, and Hotch feels something cold and frightened ooze down his spine at the intimacy there. Hal had never gone far enough away from him that’d he’d been forced to search for her before. She’d always just been _there._ A constant, reassuring presence. A guarantee that no matter what, he’d never be alone.

She nods slowly, and turns on the spot, eyes snapping to a point just over Hotch’s shoulder. “Over there,” she gasps, taking a couple of stumbling steps. Suddenly her expression stills, becomes familiar and fierce again. “This way, he’s this way!”

Aureilo outruns all of them, vanishing over the rubble in bounding leaps, the white flash of his tail all that marks him as he goes. Eris circles tightly over their heads, faster than the hare but restrained by her tie to Rossi outside, keeping the reporters back. She watches them go, turning back to re-join him. Emily is by JJ’s side. Reid stays by Hotch’s.

They find him together.

 

 

Will’s badge is on the ground of the alley outside, and Kailo is perched on top of it. His yellow wings are stained red with Will’s blood, one battered and torn. Reid feels the crushing horror that had enveloped him the moment he’d seen the vacant look in JJ’s eyes lift at the sight of the dæmon, alive. Unable to return to his human, but alive. Reunited. Aureilo is next to the butterfly but practically hurls himself into Reid’s arms once they reach him.

Reid scoops up the hare and clutches him close as JJ does the same to her butterfly. The glowing relief on her face is achingly familiar, even though they’ve only been apart for a short time. The other agents don’t react as openly, but he can see both Sergio and Hal pressing close to their humans, the knowledge of the pain suffered haunting them all.

JJ places Kailo on her shoulder with a shaking hand, the dæmon quivering against her neck. She picks up the badge with the other. Caresses the warm leather. Takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Will always says, if you can, leave a breadcrumb,” she tells them, and Reid wonders what they’d discussed for _that_ to come up in conversation.

Morgan is there, walking up behind them and placing a hand on Reid’s elbow. His eyes are worried and not all of the concern is aimed at JJ. Reid tries to smile and, instead, just feels sick. Aureilo shakes in his arms. “Ok, so he was here and clearheaded enough to leave us a clue,” Morgan says firmly. He looks at Hotch and nods. “And there was no blood down there. Both are good signs.”

“He was shot,” JJ whispers, holding the badge close. “They shot him. They have him.” She looks at Reid now, plaintive. “I can’t lose him.”

Kailo’s voice is soft, but Reid still hears it. “He says he’s sorry, Jennifer. He told me to tell you.”

 

 

The five words that every agent has nightmares about. JJ looks up at him and says the five words guaranteed to stop cold the hearts of any law enforcement officer who hears them.

“They know where we live.”

Hotch has been an FBI agent for a long time. He knows how it works. They have two families. There’s their families at home: their partners and children, their parents and siblings.

Then, there’s his agents. Their team. He loves them, god he loves them, for their bravery and their loyalty and for themselves. He thinks of each and every one of them and he knows that he loves them. It’s an unspoken love, they don’t talk about it. They show it in the little things. A smile, a hand on a shoulder. Comfort given during a tough case. They trust each other with their lives. They’d die for each other if need be. Someday, they might have to.

And that’s the difference between their two families. Hotch thinks of his team and everything they give him. Morgan, hot-headed and reckless. Brave. Unfalteringly loyal. Rossi and his humour, his arrogance, his secrets. Reid’s intelligence and his awkwardness. JJ’s kindness, and the softness to her that sometimes threatens to be her destruction. Emily’s pain, and her courage. Gideon. Elle. All of them, they can be taken from them in a moment, and he is ready for that.

In return for that sacrifice, they expect their other families to be safe. But, sometimes, they aren’t. He’d learnt that years ago. Now, it’s JJ’s turn.

“You can’t blame yourself,” he says as they drive towards her house.

“Want to bet?” she snaps bitterly. “I should have never left Henry today.”

“Do you blame me for Foyet? For Haley? Foyet told me I should, as he shot me. ‘You should have taken the deal.’”

She blanches, turns to him with wide, horrified eyes. “Hotch, no! Of course not. You were doing your job, what Foyet did had nothing to do with the decision you made.”

“I knew he’d come after me. I knew he’d make it personal. I’m a dad first, and I put my son in danger.”

“You’re a federal agent. You have to make choices like that sometimes. You had no possible way of knowing how it would end.”

“What makes you so different from me then?” He lifts an eyebrow and she frowns, frustrated. He sees her relax ever so slightly. Not much. She won’t, not until her family is safe. But it’s enough to stop her from shattering in the meantime.

“Damn you, Aaron Hotchner,” she retorts, voice cracking. “We… we made a deal. Will and I, that Henry would never be alone without one of us. And… I broke that.”

“He’ll forgive you.”

 

 

Reid follows Emily into the station. She vanishes out of sight and he swears, looking around for her, gun held ready in sweaty hands. Despite the adrenaline coursing through him, he doesn’t falter. His finger doesn’t twitch towards the trigger, his hands don’t shake. His teacher was too good for him to make mistakes like that. He wishes Aureilo was here. He can feel him. A thread connecting them. What he’d told JJ was true, he’ll always be able to find him. Remembering Kailo’s wing, an injury that may never heal, he’s grateful for the ease of the distance between them. It means he can do his job without being vulnerable.

His teammates don’t have that option.

He sees Sergio first, watching him approach with green eyes. “Get out of here, kid,” he says, lashing his tail.

He sees Emily. Then he sees Will.

And the bomb.

“Just give me a minute,” she hisses at him, hands hovering over the device. Reid’s not a bomb tech. He has all these facts, all this knowledge, and it all betrays him. His mind goes blank. He looks at Will and Will is staring back with a resigned expression. It’s up to Emily.

**00:57**

“That’s about all you’ve got,” the Alsatian dæmon says, pacing around them and eyeing the device. She limps, hackles raised. Protecting them until the last. No one will reach them while she’s on guard. Pity that the danger is one she can’t stop.

He trusts Emily to do this.

**00:45**

“Reid, get out of here,” Emily snaps. He watches the countdown tick. His presence is distracting her.

“I’m not leaving you,” he says firmly. He thinks of Aureilo.

He wishes he was here. They never seen to be able to say goodbye.

**00:29**

“Spence, JJ needs you,” Will chokes, eyes skimming from Reid to Prentiss. “You two, get out of here! Don’t leave her!”

He picks up Sergio. Emily is muttering feverishly and doesn’t notice. The cat bumps his head against his chin, purrs furiously. “Spencer,” he says softly. “If this goes wrong…”

**00:15**

“You don’t get to say goodbye yet,” Reid snaps. _Aureilo, Aureilo, Aureilo…_ _Aaron. I’m so fucking sorry._

**00:03**

There’s a click.

 

 

Hotch watches JJ and Will reunited with Henry and is glad that today isn’t one of those days. There’s no gold coin, no Taps making every cop in the crowd feel sick. Just for once, everyone lives.

Morgan and Prentiss are sitting sandwiched around Reid. The man looks green, holding Aureilo on his lap and petting him fanatically. Hotch wonders what had happened when they’d went to get Will. If the rest of his team knows, they’re not telling, eyes sliding guiltily away when he asks. He assumes Reid did something stupid again. He’ll find out eventually.

Rossi sidles up, smirking. Hotch tears his eyes away from his team to look at him. “What are you looking so pleased about?” he asks him suspiciously.

“Got any plans for tomorrow night?” Rossi says, lifting a hand to run a finger across Eris’s chest.

“Depends, are you buying?”

Rossi nods, grins even wider. Hotch almost groans at that look. A Dave-party. If this one ends like the last… “Want to be my plus one, Aaron?”

“Where to?”

Rossi puts his hand on Hotch’s shoulder, tilting him around to face the window through which JJ and Will are embracing. “Oh, a little butterfly may have told me about a wedding…”

 

 

Rossi stands, raises his glass. They all wait. Reid watches JJ, and he can’t help the smile. She looks beautiful, looking at Will as though she could never be parted from him. Her dress is simple, white and flowing, undecorated except for a single beaded butterfly gleaming gold on her shoulder, matching the real life version inches away from it. There’s a delicately stitched canine on the heart of Will’s tux in gold thread, standing proud. On the cake, the butterfly and dog stand together.

These are the moments to cherish, because they can be gone in an instant.

“They say that good things happen to good people. Today is one of those days, and these are two of those people. We love you.” Rossi bows his head at the newly married couple. JJ lifts a hand to hide her face, laughing through the tears.

 

 

“How are you?” Hotch knows the answer before he asks. Emily sighs. She looks beautiful in her dress, but still the same woman. Confident. Self-assured. Sad. “That bad, huh?” He hasn’t worked with her for five years without picking up some tricks. She frowns at him. “That’s your tell.”

The frown vanishes and she laughs. “How long have you known that?”

He nudges her playfully. He can hear Jack laughing somewhere with Henry. Hal lowers her head and nuzzles Sergio. The cat is startled, wide eyed, but purrs anyway. “Uh, ever since I’ve known you.”

She wrinkles her nose, watching the two dæmons with knowing eyes. “Well, you have one too.”

“What is it?” He’s suspicious.

Another laugh, and she touches his hand. It’s as close to a hug as he’s going to get.

It’s a goodbye.

“I’m not going to tell you, or you’ll stop doing it,” she scolds him.

A comfortable silence settles between them, and there’s an air of contentment around her that she’s been missing since she’d returned from her ‘death’. As though she’s finally found her place, just not with them. “Do you think Reid knows? About my ‘tell’?”

This time, the laugh is long and loud and she has to take gulped breaths in around it. Hotch sees Reid glance up at them from the table where he’s flourished a deck of cards to an intrigued looking Beth. “Oh, Hotch,” she chokes eventually, when the laughing subsides. “Who do you think taught me?”

 

 

“How do you do that?” Beth asks curiously as he shows Henry and Jack the new card trick he’s learned.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” he says, tapping his nose with the cards and winking. Despite himself, he likes her. He’s not entirely sure why Rossi has seated him next to her though. Judging from the look on Aaron’s face when he’d seen the seating arrangements, he isn’t sure either. He suspects that Rossi is meddling again, in his not-so-subtle way.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Can you pull a rabbit out of a hat?” she teases.

“Only if he wants the rabbit to feed him the hat,” Aureilo warns them, narrowing his eyes at Reid as though daring him to try.

When she smiles at him, it’s a real smile. She’s genuinely a nice person. Perhaps Rossi isn’t meddling at all. Maybe, he’s just giving Reid the chance to see that Hotch has found the best woman he can for him and Jack.

“Want to see some more?” he asks her, holding up the cards with a flourish. She looks delighted.

“Oh, please!”

 

 

Hotch dances with Beth. She can’t help but laugh at his shuffling steps. “It’s been a while since I danced last,” he defends himself. “I’m out of practise.”

“You’re supposed to be leading,” she says, shaking her head at him in mock disgrace. “You keep faltering, waiting for me to lead.”

He shrugs, glancing about at his team and friends dancing around them. He’s not doing as badly as Morgan. The man may know his way around a nightclub, but he’s out of his element slow-dancing with Strauss. “The last person I danced with led,” he says absently. A memory teases, evading him.

Beth is saved by Rossi appearing between them and offering his arm. “How about I show you how to really dance,” he says with a wink, sweeping her away. Hotch laughs, left alone in the middle of the dance floor. He takes a step back, intending to make his way to the table to find Hal, and bumps into someone. More like, has someone thrown at him. Reid stumbles and Hotch puts an arm out. The man grins shakily, turning to frown at Emily, who shrugs and disappears.

“All I did was ask her to dance when she was finished with Rossi, and she just grins and shoves me,” Reid complains, turning to get out of the way of Garcia and Kevin. The two are glaring at each other, clearly arguing under their breaths even as they dance.

“I think that, maybe,” Hotch says with a restrained chuckle, “they were hinting at something.”

They’re not subtle. He really needs to tell Rossi to stop interfering.

“Oh?” Reid turns to face him, looking confused. The suit he’s wearing is finely tailored around his body, showing off all his long lines. Hotch’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. The response is almost Pavlovian at this point. He’d worn a suit the day they’d gotten together.

He holds out his arm. He’s really just encouraging Rossi’s misbehaviour at this point. “May I have this dance?”

Reid smiles and nods. “Only if I lead,” he teases gently. “You’ve always been awful at it.”

_Oh._ Now he remembers who the last person he’d danced with was.

He’s hyperaware of his hands on Reid’s body as they hold each other a careful distance apart, moving in slow, graceful strides. Hotch remembers how shocked he’d been the first time he’d danced with Reid, jokingly around the living room, finding him to be elegantly skilled at the art of it. A far cry from the nervous shuffling he did when Morgan dragged him out on weekends.

The music picks up slightly and, almost unconsciously, Reid pulls him closer to speed up their footwork. Hotch pulls back, unwilling to let Reid sense the hammering of his heart in his chest.

This is dangerous.

“Emily’s going to leave,” Reid says, looking into his eyes. Their eye line is level. It’s not strange, dancing with a man the same height as him. He doesn’t have to consciously adjust for someone shorter. He tries not to dwell on that.

“I know.”

Reid opens his mouth to say something and pauses. There’s a single, tenuous moment where Hotch focuses on those delicate lips and considers leaning forward and seeing if he can taste the words left unsaid on them. It would be so simple, pulling him close and curving their bodies together. Yet another dance they knew off by heart. He knows exactly how the other man will feel pressed against him. He knows the beat of Spencer’s heart intimately. He tenses, falters.

Reid nods and thanks Hotch for the dance with a voice that’s steady, and walks away. Again. Saving Hotch from his own destruction.

He hears Beth laugh and sighs. Swallows down bitter guilt and regrets. He’s so sure of the dance he’s learnt, he doesn’t know if he can learn another.

 

 

He finally gets his dance with Emily.

“You still look at him like you’re in love,” she says, glancing at Hotch. “I saw you dance.”

He flushes, embarrassed. He’s horrified to have been caught swooning in another man’s arms like a schoolgirl. Surely, he still has _some_ self-respect. Apparently, except when it comes to Aaron Hotchner. “Because I do love him,” he admits. “I probably always will. Same as you, and Morgan, and everyone here. But no more than that.”

She rolls her eyes at him. He focuses on her, tuning out the people around them. This is their last dance, he knows it. “Spencer, if you love me like you love him, then this dance is going to go in a whole different direction,” she says with a wink.

“I’m not going backwards.”

“It’s not going backwards to change your mind.” The words are laced with double meaning. He knows the conversation has shifted, that this is it.

“When are you going?”

“Soon. I’m sorry.” Her eyes catch the light wetly, glittering at the corners. She’s going to smudge her makeup. He reaches up to catch a tear before it can drip, wiping it away gently. It reflects on his finger, blurs. His own vision waters. He doesn’t bother to hide it, he has no shame about feeling sad about this.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m proud of you.” He brushes his lips against her forehead and pulls her close. “I think I miss you already.”

His shoulder is wet but he doesn’t mind. This is their goodbye.

He’s grateful that they get one.


	27. Zugzwang

He stares at his cell, heart slamming in his chest. Aureilo paces over the other side of the room, just as keyed up as he is.

“Would you stop panicking?” the hare complains, voice strained. “You’re sending me into arrhythmia over here.”

“I’m not panicking,” Reid tells him firmly, twining his fingers together and twisting them tight. Nausea builds in his stomach, making his gut knot uncomfortably. He checks the email on the laptop in front of him, checks the time. Checks the email again. He’s not panicking.

He’s terrified.

The phone rings and Reid almost jumps out of his skin, dropping it in his rush to reach for it. Aureilo bounces a few times, snapping at him to hurry up.

“Hello?” He chokes on the words, rasps. Tries again. “He-hello?”

“Spencer?”

She sounds how he always expected her to.

She sounds beautiful.

“Maeve… hi.”

 

 

There’s a knock on Hotch’s office door two weeks after Emily Prentiss leaves the BAU for good. He’s there late, again. Dealing with the paperwork left by being a team member short. When he looks up, there’s a woman standing there with a cautious, wary smile. Her eyes and mouth are lined with her years. The lines fit around her smile, an expression she’s clearly worn many times before.

“May I help you?” he asks politely, standing. Across the room, Hal stands as well. She bows her head low in greeting to the woman’s dæmon, a fox with dark red fur and a grinning muzzle.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner?” the woman says, taking his hand and shaking it. Her grip is warm and firm. She doesn’t flinch away from his eyes, and he can see intelligence there. “I’m Alex Blake. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance, Doctor Spencer Reid?”

Interesting. It isn’t often he had people knock on his door looking for Reid, unless they’re head-hunters. And they’re not usually quite so polite as to approach him first. Hotch has seen Reid’s email inbox once, and the number of acronyms seeking his services still stuns him.

“He’s a member of my team, yes,” he says warily.

“I know. He guest lectures with me at Georgetown, forensic linguistics.” Blake stops and cocks her head, a move mirrored by her intently staring dæmon. Hotch wonders if he’s picked up Hal’s mannerisms as well. “He mentioned that there’s a vacancy in your team. I’d like to register my interest.”

 

 

If asked, Reid could tell someone down to the second how long he’d spent talking to Maeve, the hours flickering away in a blink of an eye.

It wasn’t often he found someone willing to not only let him ramble about anything he could think of, but also to keep up with that rambling and contribute… it’s utterly thrilling. Their phone calls quickly became the highlights of his week, spending his days in a fit of nervous agitation so he can go home and see if her name appears on his mobile. The days they have to fly out on a case and he’s forced to email her and cancel are the worst. He’s sure the team must have noticed the change in his behaviour, but none of them ask. He assumes they’re probably putting his reclusiveness as a symptom of missing Emily. He’s happy to let them continue thinking that.

Somehow, when it comes, it’s still a shock.

“We’ve spent all this time talking and we still haven’t even met each other,” Reid says one day, absently doodling on the notepad in front of him with the phone held to his ear.

A quick intake of breath. “Well… why don’t we meet?” Her tone is nervous, frightened. He’s holding his own breath, unsure whether he’s doing it from shock or excitement. “I… I really like you, Spence. I have for, gosh, almost a year, I think? I had a messy breakup, and you had Aaron, and it just… well, it never seemed right. But it does now. I really think it’s time. I want to meet you.”

“I would really like that,” he says after a pause, jarred back into movement by Aureilo boxing at his leg impatiently. “That would be… that would be amazing, Maeve.”

She laughs and sounds so wildly alive his blood sings. He recognises this feeling, this first heady taste of something new. It’s been a long time.

He’s missed it.

She trails off midway through a sentence. “Spence, I have to go. Something’s just come up. I have to deal with it now, before we do anything, okay? I’ll email you about meeting, sometime soon.”

There’s a spark of concern. “Is everything okay?”

“It will be. Talk soon. Stay safe.”

 

 

Morgan and Garcia are away when Blake begins with them, which is probably a bad thing because she’s sitting at Emily’s old desk. Next to Reid. Guest lecturing with him is one thing; it’s entirely another to spend eight hours sitting next to him until they get a field case.

Rossi is grinning widely. Hotch narrows his eyes at him. When introducing Blake to him, her fox dæmon had ducked under a desk with only the tip of his narrow muzzle peeking out, watching Eris warily.

Apparently, they know each other.

“Let her settle in before being you,” he warns his friend, turning to face Blake as she wanders towards them, eyes roving hungrily around the squad room.

“Hello, Dave.” She raises an eyebrow at them.

“Alex,” he greets her. Eris rattles her wings and shuffles across the banister, looking down at the fox and clicking her beak. Hotch groans silently, not letting any sign of his dismay show on his face. Blake glances around again. Her dæmon settles by her feet, paws tucked in neatly, stock-still except for the tip of his white-tufted tail twitching. Perfectly composed. His gold eyes don’t leave Hal, following her movements with slow, languid sweeps of his gaze.

Even if they encouraged intra-team profiling, she’d be a tough profile to make.

“Desk on the left?” she asks cautiously. “I’ll just go settle in, shall I?” She wanders down the stairs to where JJ is carefully setting out her own desk ready for the day, shaking her hand in greeting.

“She has a history with Strauss,” Hotch murmurs, watching the two women chat. Reid’s bag hangs off the back of his chair, the man himself nowhere in sight. Probably refuelling at the coffee pot. “I’ve never seen Strauss’ dæmon look as cornered as he did when she walked into the room.”

Rossi looks intrigued. “What did Blake’s dæmon do?”

Hotch hums as he recalls the odd meeting. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just watched and looked bored. If either of them were angry, I couldn’t tell.”

“Interesting,” Rossi murmurs. “But not something I’m going to poke my nose into. Women’s issues aren’t my forte.”

“And it only took him three marriages to work it out,” Eris adds, buffeting him with a friendly wing. “Who says an old owl can’t learn new tricks?”

Reid appears, balancing three books and two coffees in his arms, and Hotch sees Blake turn to face him. “Time to mediate,” he says, excusing himself to hurry down the steps to his team.

“Oh goody,” Rossi says in delight, following.

 

 

“Sixteen across is ‘anfractuous’.”

Reid runs his pen down the page, noting it and smiling. “Means ‘sinuous or circuitous’.”

“Sixteenth century origins from the Latin word, ‘ _anfractus’_. Good to see you haven’t lost your linguistic touch, Doctor Reid.”

Aureilo pokes his head up. “Beaten our record yet, Blake?”

Blake smiles, but the answer comes from under their legs, a narrow snout poking out from under the desk. “Only a matter of time, long-ears,” the fox says, winking at the hare. “Slow and steady to the finish line, that’s how the proverb goes.”

Aureilo snickers. “Any steadier and you should have settled as a tortoise.”

“And wouldn’t you two have made a fine pair then,” Blake mutters, bending back over her paperwork with a smirk.

She’s no Emily.

But sometimes change is good.

 

 

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Maeve.” She’s been crying. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to cancel our date… I can’t talk about it right now, but something’s going on. I’m sorry. I should never have mentioned meeting.”

“What? Wait, are you okay? Maeve?”

She sounds scared. “I’m sorry, Spence. I’ll call you when I can. Don’t call me.”

_Click._

 

“I got a job offer in New York.” Beth is watching him, waiting for a reaction.

He knows what reaction she’s waiting for. She’s been patient, endlessly patient. Now she’s finally asking for some sign he’s not sure he’s ready to give. He says, “It’s a great opportunity. You should take it.” The only sign of her distress is Coop, ducking his head away, a whine in the back of his throat. Hotch’s heart twists. He’d never wanted to hurt her. “You want me to ask you to stay.”

Now it’s her turn to look away. “I feel like this is the start of goodbye.”

He reaches out, draws her in. “Hey, hey, don’t be like that. You’re not going to get rid of us that easily. Jack needs you to teach me the finer points of fort making.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s tense in his arms. “Jack has Spencer to teach him the finer points of fort making,” she points out, meeting his gaze. Her mouth is turning down at the corners, twitching as she tries to keep a steady face. “And you still have his picture on the wall.”

“I chose you. Not Reid.”

“Only because he walked away first.”

It’s his turn to pull back, hurt. It’s a justified hurt, but that doesn’t make it sting any less. “I never meant to make you feel like I was comparing you to him. He’s my past. You’re here, right now, and it’s you I love. Not him.”

She nods, wary. “Can we make this work? Long distance?”

“We can try.”

 

 

He stares at his phone like he can will it to ring with the force of his mind. It’s the fourth call she’s missed. She won’t tell him what’s wrong. He battles with his worry about her coupled with his desire to not invade her privacy. One phone call to Garcia would have the answers he needs, but at the cost of everything they promise to be.

“Spencer?” Aureilo shuffles into the room, eyes concerned. He sluggishly turns his head to look at his dæmon. He’s tired, exhausted from being constantly hyper focused on the phone, waiting for any sign that she’s okay. “Is everything alright?”

Under all the worry, something else. Something good, that’s been a long time coming. Something that could be the making of him.

Or the destruction.

“I’m falling in love with a woman I’ve never met,” Reid says to the roof, hearing Aureilo sigh. It’s not like he needs to tell the hare. He already knows. He knows everything Reid feels. Most of the time, he has a better handle on it then Reid does.

“Yeah, well,” the hare says heavily, “you never do make things simple.”

 

 

“Something’s up with Reid.” Rossi is lingering in his office door, expression inscrutable. “He’s all squirrely. You should talk to him.”

Hotch snaps. He doesn’t mean to. It’s been a long day, he’s stressed, and he’s feeling goddamn guilty over being the one to make Beth, wonderful, fantastic Beth, feel second-rate. “Why is that my responsibility? He’s not my problem anymore.”

Silence.

He shouldn’t have said that.

Rossi settles back on his heels, and his face has turned dark and angry. “Because you’re the team leader of this unit? Because it’s your job? Because he’s your friend? I don’t know, pick one of any of the above, Aaron.”

“Dave, I’m—”

Rossi shakes his head, kicking the door shut so their voices don’t carry over the darkened squad room. There’s a light at one of the desks. He can’t see which one. “No, don’t apologise unless you fucking mean it. What the hell is wrong with you? You think because you’re not sleeping with him anymore, that means you’re annulled of all responsibility towards him?”

Hotch drops his head into his hands. “Damnit, I know. I fucked up, alright? I wasn’t thinking. I’ll talk to him.”

Somehow, Rossi manages to make opening the door sound disapproving. “Don’t,” he says coldly. “I’ll do it. If you’re pissed off at him because things aren’t going well with Beth, he’s going to pick up on that.”

“Don’t profile me, Dave.”

“Don’t make it so easy.”

 

 

She tells him.

“I’m being stalked.”

She won’t let him help her. He doesn’t know what to do. Emily would know.

He misses Emily.

 

 

Reid is distracted, fidgeting. Edgy. Aureilo is distant, staring out the window of the jet. It’s not a good combination. Rossi watches them both, calculating. When Hotch moves towards Reid, Rossi looks away with his mouth a tight line. He waits until the others have left the jet, lingering as Reid slowly gathers his bag. Touches his arm. Reid jerks out of his grasp, startling as though Hotch had swung at him.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks cautiously. Hal keeps her distance, knowing that the hare won’t appreciate her getting close right now. It’s been a long time since Reid has opened up to him about his emotions.

He doubts today will be the day that changes.

“I’m fine,” Reid says quickly, dragging his bag up to his shoulder and slipping past. “Of course I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be? Everything is… fine.”

“Oh yes,” Hal states dryly as the hare and man bolt from the jet. “Because anything he says that many times _must_ be true.”

 

 

“Do you think it's going to be like this forever?” He closes his eyes and tries to imagine what it would be like if her voice was actually next to him, if he could open them and she’d be smiling at him, within arm’s reach. What it would be like to hold her close, to kiss her. Whether their bodies would fit together. How it would feel to wake up in the morning and have her be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes.

He can’t imagine a face. He just _wants._

“I don’t know. It’s not how I want us to be, I know that.” There’s longing in her voice as well, as though she’s trying to reach through the phone to him. “God, Spencer, sometimes I can’t think for missing you.”

“My team and I are really good at what we do. Why can’t you just let me help you?” He’s begging, almost. Aureilo shivers by his knee, shaken by the tumultuous emotions his human is struggling with. Fear. Misery. Desire. Love. Unspoken, but there. “I can help you, please let me help you.”

“I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for you, because I cannot let him hurt you, because if he knew, he would…” A ragged sob down the line. He flinches, feeling the pain of that cry in his chest as though he’s physically sharing it.

“Please, don’t cry.” He opens his eyes, closes them again quickly when he sees the empty bed. Drops his free hand onto his chest, counting the heartbeats to hold himself together. He wonders if theirs match. “I get it. I get it, okay? This is how it has to be. I understand.”

The average human gets approximately 2.21 billion heartbeats in a lifetime. He can calculate how many of those beats he’s had since meeting her, since this. He doesn’t. Because that’s dangerously close to calculating how many they have left, and he can’t do that. He can’t see another end coming before there’s even a beginning.

“I’m sorry this is how it has to be.”

“I know.” He doesn’t know how to fix this, not without losing her. Every iota of him is screaming at him, _go to your team. Go to Aaron. Aaron will fix this. He can fix anything. He’d do anything for you._

It would be a betrayal. Not only of Maeve, but of Aaron too.

_You loved me once, now help me love another. Help me keep her safe, because I know you’d still do anything for me._ _And I’m gone enough that I would ask you to._

She says it first. “We’ll talk soon, okay? I love you.”

He’s so stunned he doesn’t respond in time. When he says it back, it’s to an empty line.

It’s ok. There’s still time.

 

 

He calls her one day while he’s at work and the bullpen is empty, struck by the desire to do _something_. “Maeve listen, I’m with my team…”

She cuts him off. “Spence, no! I said no. You can’t, if he finds out about us, about you…”

“They can keep me safe… they can keep you safe.” He looks up at Aaron’s office. So close, it would take a moment to walk up there. To ask for help from the one man who would never deny him…

“You’re only safe as long as you stay away from me.”

His heart cracks a little at the resignation in her voice. It’s not true. He knows it’s not. He can protect her. He’d never let anything hurt her.

Blake walks back in, glances at him curiously. He quickly changes the subject. “Okay, okay. It’s okay, we’re okay. I’ll do anything to help you, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

He says it. “I love you.” Blake isn’t close enough to hear, chatting with Anderson by the door. Tod licks his paws carefully.

“I love you too.”

 

 

JJ is grinning widely when she appears in the squad room, waving her arms to get their attention. “Excuse me, everybody. I have an announcement to make. As I’m sure some of you were aware, Henry was a little nervous about going trick-or-treating this year. But he’s decided to go anyway.”

Rossi leans over the bannister, looking delighted. “Great! What changed his mind?”

“The BAU did. I told him that he should go out on Halloween and try to figure out which monsters are real and which ones are not.” JJ glances at Reid for some reason as she says this, and the grin widens. Hal nudges her head past Hotch to get a look, peering down at them.

“So he wants to be a profiler,” Morgan states, eyebrow lifting.

She steps aside, and reveals Henry in his costume. “He wants to be his _favourite_ profiler.”

Spencer makes a strangled noise, half-way between a yelp and a squeal, bolting out his chair. Aureilo just stares as Henry and his dæmon bound up to them, in hare form and Spencer-costume.

“Fi couldn’t have just one ear,” Henry says sombrely, adjusting his tie carefully as Reid makes an expression like his heart is melting. “But she’s supposed to be Reelo.” Reid hugs Henry close, laughing helplessly at the miniature versions of himself, pride practically oozing off of him.

Blake steps up next to Rossi and chuckles. “Look at him, he’s so good with kids. I can’t believe he hasn’t got any of his own yet.”

“Yet?” Rossi asks, choking on the word. He looks at Blake, but meets Hotch’s gaze instead. His smile slips slightly. Whatever he sees on Hotch’s face, Blake doesn’t.

“He seems pretty serious about this girlfriend of his, this Maeve. I heard them on the phone the other day,” she says as casually as though she doesn’t realize each word hits Hotch like a hammer. Rossi freezes. “Maybe it’s only a matter of time until we’re overrun with baby geniuses.” She glances at Hotch, tensing when she sees his expression. “What? Is it something I said?”

Hotch shakes his head and walks away, closing his office door gently behind him. He can feel Rossi’s eyes burning into the back of his neck as he goes, knows it’s only a matter of time before the man comes to find him.

Reid’s with Maeve.

The idea of Reid having children with Maeve… spending his life with her. Christmases. Birthdays. Having a family, his own family, not the scraps that Hotch tosses him. Reid having kids of his own? The idea is thrilling. But, for some reason, even though they’ve been broken up for so long now… for some reason, he still pictures those kids as his own as well.

Reid had been a good person about Beth. He liked her. Was genuinely happy that Hotch had moved on with her. Hotch is starting to think that maybe he’s not as good a person as Reid is. He’s not surprised by this.

Beth is right.

He hasn’t moved on at all.

 

 

“I think the stalker has gone. The e-mails have stopped.”

He’s holding his breath again. He bets that, if he tried, he could calculate exactly how many breaths she made him skip. She’s worth every one of them.

“You know, oftentimes when a stalker’s advances are completely ignored, their erotomaniac fantasies will be diverted to a more receptive target. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want to meet you.”

That night, the dreams begin. He’s not sure yet whether to call them nightmares.

 

 

Blake’s the only one he’s pretty sure has no idea about his past with Hotch. Which is what makes it so easy to open up to her when she finds him isolating himself from the team.

Hiding. He knows he’s hiding.

She sits next to him, Tod circling the floor and examining everything with an insatiable curiosity. Reid notes dully that the fox only ever really acts like a fox when the rest of the team isn’t around, when he can let his guard down. He wonders if that will ever change.

“Is this about the girl who called you that day? The one you had a fight with?”

“We didn’t… she wants to meet me.” Oh yeah. Fox dæmon. Fox hearing, pinpoint accuracy. Aureilo is so weird about listening in on people, Reid sometimes forgets that other dæmons aren’t quite so moralistic.

Blake stills. Something crosses her face, as though she can’t decide whether to be worried or make noises like JJ and Garcia when faced with baby animals. “Wait, you guys have never met? You sounded pretty serious on the phone. Aren’t you curious what she looks like?”

“I don’t, it doesn't matter what she looks like,” he stutters, stumbling over the words. He means every one of them. “I mean, she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me, it's just… what if she doesn't like me? I don’t even know how I feel…”

Blake leans closer, studying him, and says slowly, “I think you’re excited, but afraid.” She touches his arm. It’s a motherly sort of touch. By the time he’d been old enough to need to ask his mother about relationships, she was no longer in a position to help him. He hadn’t realized until now what he’d been missing. “Seeing her will only make the relationship better! Trust me. Do it.”

“Okay.”

 

 

He finds Reid in the bathroom, feverishly trying to flatten his hair. He shouldn’t know about his plans, but he does. The downside of working in such a tightly knit group, some secrets refuse to stay buried. Reid knows why he’s there.

“I slouch, my hair is too long, my tie is perpetually crooked, I’m _weird_ ,” Reid lists off angrily, glaring at himself. “Why am I even doing this?”

Hotch doesn’t know how to tell him that everything he’d just said is just another reason to love him. “You’re going to be fine,” he says quietly instead. Reid watches him in the reflection of the mirror. There’s something haunted about his gaze. “She’s going to love you.

“How do you know?” He reaches up and pats at his hair again. Hotch knocks his hand back, runs a gentle finger through his hair, rearranging it. Reid stands still under his ministrations. Smooth his collar. Straighten his tie. Everything he would have done for him before. He’s warm under his fingers, real. Alive.

Impossibly far away.

He does for him now, so Reid can go and begin his life with someone else.

“How could she not love you?” Hal answers finally, leaning her head against Aureilo’s flank. The hare quivers under her touch, butts his head against her leg.

Reid swallows hard and the sound echoes. Hotch can almost see the exact moment he decides to open up to him. “I’m… terrified, Aaron. I’m absolutely terrified. I have dreams about her waiting for me, except it’s dark and… and I’m too scared to find her. I wake up and look for her and she’s not there.”

Hotch closes his heart against the aching hope in the other man’s voice. “It’s alright,” he says finally. “It’s going to be fantastic. I promise you.”

How could it not?

 

 

The man keeps glancing at him. Reid can’t help but notice it, everything in the restaurant being thrown into stark clarity as he waits for the moment the last few months had been leading up to.

Months? Years? Maybe everything that had happened with Hotch, the people before and after… maybe that was just a pathway to this time. This woman. This future. He pushes that thought away quickly, feeling sick at the implication that Aaron was anything as trivial as that. The man shaped his life. He’ll shape it still, no matter the outcome of tonight.

“He’s looking again,” Aureilo points out, arching his back angrily and hissing in his throat, a low warning growl. “Spence, what if it’s him? What if we’re putting her in danger?”

He has to react now. He can’t think about it, or he’ll back out, give in to his consuming desire to know her. Broken-hearted, he dials. Her voice is painfully excited when she answers. “Hello?”

“Maeve, it’s me. Listen, don't come to the restaurant.”

“What are you talking about? I'm outside.”

_So close._ He could do it. He could get up, walk out there, gather her into his arms and pull her close… He’s seen the worst. He knows what can happen. “Go home, please. I think your stalker is here.”

She inhales sharply, fear biting into her tone. “Oh god. Okay. Wait. Which table are you at?”

He watches the man, narrows his eyes as their eyes meet again. The man looks quickly away. “What? Why? Maeve, it’s not safe.”

“Please. Quickly.”

“Eleven. What are you…?”

Aureilo makes a soft, keening noise of longing that shakes Reid to the core. “ _Perte_ ,” the hare gasps. Reid knows that name. He turns. There’s a dæmon slipping up to them, a sleek form of golden orange fur and wide ears. The dæmon stops next to them, examining them with liquid brown eyes, placing a book gently on the table from its mouth. _The Narrative of John Smith_.

He’d bought her the same book.

“Spencer,” the dæmon breathes, yearning in his voice, before ducking his head to tap his nose against Aureilo’s muzzle. “Aureilo.”

“ _Chrysocyon brachyurus,_ ” Reid whispers, hand twitching almost involuntarily towards the long-legged creature’s elegant form, the line of glossy black fur ridging along his back. “Maned wolf. You’re _beautiful_.”

Reid knows his name, but they’d never told each other what dæmons they have.

The animal looks away shyly, runs a delicate tongue down Aureilo’s spine. “We have to go,” he says. “We’re so sorry. We love you.” He pauses, considers.

Presses his head under Reid’s palm, letting his hand drift gently over his fur. Reid savours the touch. He knows she can feel it too. Then, he’s gone, and she’s gone with him.

Reid’s still shaking as he stands to confront the man.

 

 

Reid is quiet the next morning. Pale. Hotch examines the deep bruising under his eyes, can see all the signs of a sleepless night. His hand keeps drifting to his bag, a book tucked into the pocket. His fingers run over it reverently.

“How did your date go?” he asks as he walks past his desk. It’s not his place to ask. He has no right. He can’t help himself. Reid pauses before he answers and Hotch sees the barest hint of teeth at his lip.

They all have their tells.

“It went… okay,” Reid lies.

Hotch touches his hand, feels it shake slightly under his fingers. There’s something deeper going on here. There’s not just secrecy in Reid’s tone; there’s fear too. Hal can smell it on Aureilo’s fur, the stiff way he surveys the room with wide eyes, like a hare on an open plain. Ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

“You know, I mean what I said, ages ago,” he reminds Reid carefully. “You can come to me if you need help. With _anything_.”

Reid nods twice, jerkily, opens his mouth. Closes it again. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I’m sorry Hotch, I can’t.”

He stands and walks away, almost running. Hotch watches him go. Aureilo stays. “I’m not going to tell you anything, it’s not my place,” the hare warns them. His posture relents, softens. “She is beautiful,” he says finally in an awed tone.

As soon as the hare says those words in _that_ kind of voice, Hotch knows that any foolish, selfish hopes he’d had hidden in the back of his mind are useless. Aureilo feels everything Reid does, just like Hal does for him.

And Aureilo says the words like he’s in love.

 

 

This is going to be a bad one. He has to go to the team about it. Aaron Hotchner; bearer of bad news. “Yesterday while we in were in Florida, a body was found in the desert outside Las Cruces, New Mexico.”

Rossi is by his side, as always. “A man had his leg amputated and replaced with the leg of someone else.” Hotch levels his gaze around the team while Rossi speaks. None of them move. “And as you know, last month a body was found in Dallas with its mouth sewn shut, like the Silencer.”

Finally, Hotch moves forward, shoulders stiff, and takes over. “What looked then to be a possible one-time copycat now has to be examined in a different light.”

There’s a groan of realization. “Someone’s out there mimicking the crimes we’ve solved.” Morgan, paling as the full implications sink in.

“We always get the weirdest fans,” Naemaria complains at his knee.

Hotch nods. “This is now an active case, which we'll be investigating along with our other cases.”

“Oh goody,” Hal mutters, and her sentiment is echoed in a rustle of fur and feathers across the room. Hotch can feel it’s the beginning of something.

He hopes they can stop it before the cost gets too high.

 

 

His phone rings at three in the morning, and he answers with a groggy, “E’lo?” He doesn’t check the number. He’s expecting Hotch, or JJ. The voice is robotic and synthesized, waking him up as effectively as a bucket of ice to the face.

“Zugzwang.”

He bolts up, feeling Aureilo do the same next to him. Glances at the screen. It only takes him a split second to process the number, the meaning behind the word. The threat.

Zugzwang: a situation in which the obligation to make a move in one’s turn is a serious, often decisive, disadvantage.

“Maeve?” he gasps, feeling the name tear a hole right through him.

The voice repeats. “Zugzwang.” The line goes dead.

He’s got her.


	28. The only other constant

Hotch wakes up to the sound of someone knocking furiously on his front door. Jack is crying out down the hall. Hal lunges to her feet and is gone in a second. He can hear the rumble of her growling from down the hall as she stands outside Jack’s room. She doesn’t have the reluctance another dæmon might have to take out a human if they go for their son. She’s done it before. She’s ready to tonight, if there’s a need for it.

He grabs his gun and heads for the door.

And opens it to Reid.

“Reid?” he says, frowning at him. “It’s four in the…” He trails off.

Reid’s not looking at him like a friend or a colleague or anything else that Hotch recognises.

He’s looking at him like a victim.

“Please,” he whispers, staggering slightly as he steps towards Hotch. Hotch is frozen. Frightened to the core by the man in front of him, more vulnerable than he’s ever been. “Aaron, you said you’d help me if I needed it. I need it. Help me. _Help her._ ”

 

 

The team is silent, shocked. He can’t focus on their faces, can’t see the panic and the pity. Hotch is by his side, a warm solid presence that grounds him. _He’ll protect us. He’s always protected us._

He has to have faith in something.

“If you're right about this, then you’re part of his victimology too,” Hotch says calmly.

Reid clings to that calm and shudders. “I know. He thinks he’ll get away with this, and he might. I have a wealth of knowledge I should be applying to this case. Behavioural patterns of violent stalkers, tactical recovery strategies, victim survival odds. But, right now, I can't focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time, which makes me the dumbest person in the room.”

Aureilo finishes, standing on his hind legs and resting his paws against Reid’s knee: “Please, everyone. We need you to help us find her.”

Hotch speaks into the shocked silence. “We don't know if we have a case, so we’ll be working on personal time. Does anybody want to leave?”

Reid looks away so, if they do, they won’t feel pressured by his scrutiny. When he looks back, they’re all still there. He gets the feeling they always will be.

“Thank you.”

 

 

Bobby Putnam walks out with his tabby cat dæmon at his heels, takes one look at Reid, and frowns. “Hey, I know you.”

Hotch moves quickly, grabbing Reid’s arm and hauling him out of there. He’d known this was a mistake, bringing Reid with him. He tries to tell himself it was because they needed his mind, his connection with Maeve, but that isn’t true. Reid is hardly thinking at the moment, dulled by shock and fear. He’d brought him because he couldn’t bear for him to be out of his sight.

This bastard is after him too.

“How does he know you?” he snaps, worry making his voice harsher than intended.

Reid looks at him with eyes that _hurt_ and shrugs. “A couple of weeks ago, Maeve and I were going to meet. He was at the restaurant. I caught him looking at me and something felt off about him.”

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

“I… I didn’t think. I didn’t know who he was, and then a friend of his sat down, so I just assumed that I’d overreacted.”

He takes a deep breath, calming himself. He needs to be steady. Reid needs him to be steady. “Reid, if he’s the unsub, you’re a material witness. Stay here.” He turns back to re-enter the room, almost misses his name being called out softly. When he turns back, it’s not Reid who’d called out to him.

“We’re going to find her, aren’t we?” Aureilo asks, shaking next to Reid’s feet. He looks small, compressed into himself. Huddled as though trying to keep warm.

He can’t answer that. He should be able to, with any other victim he could at least try. But Reid’s one of them. He knows the odds.

He leaves them standing there alone.

 

 

He loses it once, and can almost see their faith in him slipping away like grains of sand held in a loosely cupped palm. “Maeve is somebody, and this bitch is nobody!” he snarls, wheeling on his heel. He sees Morgan glance down at Aureilo, the hare quiet and withdrawn. Normally the one to snap, to lash out. Not Reid. He backpedals, feeling bile rising in his throat, burning him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from, I should… I need to go.”

Stumbling to the door, someone calls after him. He ignores them. He needs to get out of here, needs to let them do their job without him distracting them.

He’s passing Hotch’s office when he’s grabbed roughly and dragged in. He knows who it is. He would have known even if he hadn’t spent nights inhaling the scent of him, memorizing it for a time when he wasn’t there anymore. If she dies today, if he fails, he’ll never have that with Maeve. Just letters and emails, and the memory of the glide of her dæmon’s coat under his palm.

“Hotch, I—” he begins. He chokes on it, gasps, tries to breathe evenly, and fails. The world is coming apart around him.

“You need to take a step back,” Hotch says firmly, “because she needs you here, and she needs you thinking.”

“I don’t know how,” Reid confesses. “How do I move past this?”

Hotch steps forward and wraps his arms around him, pulling him in close and holding him tight. Reid breathes him in, and it burns. He buries his face in that warm, familiar chest and feels his own heart tear in two.

He’s never realized before just how accurate it is to feel a heart breaking.

“Don’t fight it.”

Hotch holds him until the crying stops, and then they get back to work. If any of the team notice the damp patches on their boss’s shirt, or Reid’s reddened eyes, they say nothing.

But their dæmons form a loose ring around Aureilo and press in close.

 

 

He sees the determination in Reid’s eyes, and it’s going to break him. “You can’t be a part of this takedown.” Hal is standing so close to his side he can feel her chest heaving, the same images in his mind playing through hers.

Reid’s face is eerily calm, a far cry from the shattered man who’d cried in Hotch’s arms hours before. He’s focused. Ready. “If I don’t go in there, Maeve is dead.”

_Ready for what?_ Hotch is too scared to ask. From the looks on the team’s face, they are as well. “If you do, you’re dead.”

Reid smiles.

Hotch knows what he’s ready for. He can’t let him do this. The team look to him, and he knows they see it too. They’re waiting for him to stop this.

He can’t.

Because he once told Reid he’d do anything to help him. And he meant it.

_Anything._

 

They watch him go in alone. There’s only one sound that breaks the encompassing silence that’s settled on them as their youngest member walks away from them.

Hal whines once. It’s long and low and in it is the possibility of a loss they can’t imagine.

 

 

The blindfold leaves him in darkness with just the voice of the woman who’d taken everything from him as a guide. _She calls to me but it’s dark and I’m too scared to find her._ He’s not scared now. He’s prepared for what might happen. There’s sixteen possible conclusions to this confrontation. Nine of them end with him dead. Five of those nine end with Maeve alive.

He’s from Vegas. He’ll play those odds.

He says to their captor: “To be with you. Me for her. That was the deal, right?” _It’s only fair…_

And she takes the bait: “You’re choosing me over her?”

The only other constant is Aureilo at his side. Reid wishes that there was a way the hare could continue without him. There’s no logic in a world where something as bright and vibrant as his hare spends his life shackled to him. “Diane, how could it be anyone else?”

“Prove it. Say it again. This time to her face.”

The blindfold is torn off. The light stings as his eyes adjust, but it’s worth it because when his vision clears, he sees her. He sees Maeve for the first time and she’s looking at him with tear filled eyes, her dæmon at her side. There are things that can’t be taken back, not ever. His first words to her are one of those things: “I don’t love you.”

The voice he knows, with a face to match now. She replies: “I understand.”

He always knew she’d be beautiful.

“I just want her to see one last thing,” Diane says coolly.

He’s not surprised when she kisses him. He can hide the revulsion of it, even give in a little, ease her on. It’s nothing he hasn’t done in the past. It makes his stomach turn, his skin itch, but if it will save Maeve’s life, he’d do so much more. Then, Diane leans onto his lap and, for a wild, panicked moment, he wonders how far she’s going to take this.

She takes it further then he could have ever imagined.

At first, it’s a caress, and it’s _wrong,_ and Reid jerks in the chair, holding back a sharp cry. Diane isn’t looking at his face anymore, so when the flash of horror flickers across his features, she doesn’t see it. Maeve does. Whatever she sees in his face, it terrifies her.

Aureilo tolerates the touch for barely ten seconds more before it overwhelms him and he squeals, trying to leap out of her reach. She grabs him and Reid lurches, gags, crying out with the abhorrence of it. It’s as though she’s reaching inside him and running her hand along his soul, turning everything she touches white-hot with pain. She’s caressing his core, his self, and he’s never going to be able to erase this feeling from his mind. It’s the intent of it, he can feel her intent to _hurt_ him—to _own_ him—and it does so much more than that.

_This must be how Hotch felt when Foyet had Hal._ _How could he stand it?_ _I’d rather die than feel this._

“Don’t!” screams Maeve as Aureilo kicks out, still squealing furiously, leaving a long, bloodied gash along Diane’s hand. She snarls, pulls her arm back, readies.

He sees what she’s going to do, but he’s not fast enough.

Aureilo hits the wall with a wet, meaty thump that Reid is never going to be able to forget, and lies impossibly still. Reid staggers, his head and chest exploding with pain, almost bringing him to his knees. He can’t breathe through the pain, as though someone is leaning down on his lungs with an unstoppable persistence. There’s a roaring bark and Perte bounds past, standing over Aureilo’s limp form with his mane bristling and teeth bared wrathfully. Protecting them.

“Liar!” screams Diane, and raises the gun. “I repulse you!”

She’s aiming the weapon at Perte.

At _Aureilo._

 

There’s a gunshot.

“Shots fired!” yells Morgan.

“No,” moans Hal, staggering once, finding her feet. “We sent him in to _die._ ”

Hotch ignores her. They race after the rest of the team, and into the building. He doesn’t let himself think. Grieving comes later.

 

 

He barely feels the bullet tear through his arm as he dives down in a desperate attempt to shelter the two dæmons, his mind whirling in a frantic, sick vortex of crushing panic. Only one thought stands out as he considers death: _Aaron always said he’d rather have taken the bullet than Hal._ _It’s happening again._ _I can’t stop them dying._

He wraps his uninjured arm around Aureilo and pulls him close, the hare a dead weight on his arm. He’s on his knees, struggling for breath, still begging for her to calm down, and she has the gun. Black fog claws at his mind, trying to drag him down into unconsciousness following his dæmon. His arm is wet. He doesn’t know if it’s his blood.

There’s a gun to Maeve’s head.

The team are there. He screams at them, he doesn’t know what. The possibilities are shrinking.

Five outcomes left. Four end with Maeve dead. Three with him.

He still can’t stand, the world slips to the side. Perte leans against him, and he rests his weight on that slim back. Maeve doesn’t break eye contact with him once as her dæmon steadies him. The team pause, they trust him.

Maeve trusts him.

_Aaron trusted me, but I still didn’t stop Foyet in time._

“Let me take her place,” he says finally, and there’s a deep snarl from behind him. Diane doesn’t seem to hear the warning rumble.

“You’d do that?” she asks, incredulous. “You would kill yourself for her?”

Perte shudders once under his arm. He shifts, resets his weight. Presses his hand against the animal’s chest, his heartbeats thudding inexorably through his palm. He can’t imagine them stopping.

“Yes.”

 

 

Reid, bleeding. Grey. He’d vomited, Hotch doesn’t know why. Leaning heavily on a slim backed wolf-like creature; one that’s pressed tightly against his side as though trying to shield him from harm. Aureilo in his arms, twisted and stiller than Hotch has seen him since _that_ night. And they can’t do anything. They’re frozen, waiting for the next move.

There is no right move. No matter what happens from here, they lose something.

“You’d would kill yourself for her?”

_No!_

“Yes.”

He can’t watch him die again. He aims. Hal surges next to him.

He’s too late.

 

 

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve says once, and smiles. Blake’s voice echoes in Reid’s memory from earlier that day. _“So, Thomas Merton is her goodbye?”_

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Perte finishes, taking a deep, shuddering breath and staring Diane in the eyes.

He knows what she’s going to do before she does it.

“No!”

The gun fires.

 

 

The gun fires and both women fall. There are screams.

One of those screams is Reid, but Hotch can’t focus on that, because if he focuses on that scream, he’s going to fall apart. He doesn’t know who else cried out. It might have been him, or JJ, or Morgan. It wasn’t Blake, because she looks away, mouth tightly closed, horrified. Every one of them loses something in that moment.

His world narrows to the man staring at the bloodied bodies on the floor. Hal is by his side, tensed, quivering. She’d run to him as soon as he’d said _yes._ Now, she waits. Unwilling to approach yet. Not yet.

“Reid,” Hotch says once, because Reid isn’t looking, isn’t thinking, and he hasn’t noticed that she’s not gone yet. Not all of her anyway. “ _Reid._ ”

Reid looks down. His arm tightens.

 

 

Perte wavers against him, the beat against his palm faltering. “Wait,” Reid asks him, because he deserves this, one last chance to ask something of her. “Please, not yet.” He’s still warm and solid under him. Still there.

“We love you,” Perte says quietly, his voice strained with the pain of Maeve being gone. “Spencer, I can’t find her…” He crumples, and Reid pulls him close. His muzzle brushes against his chin, licks him. Whines. Reid counts his breaths. He does that a lot, he notes.

This is the last time. He won’t again. The fur under him is wet. Reid wipes it away with a careful hand. It comes back, splattering onto his hand, hot and stinging. “I would have died for you.”

Brown eyes blink. Fade. “We know.”

They don’t wait long.

When Reid stands again, Maeve is gone and he’s covered in gold.

 

 

Hotch almost has to carry Reid from the building. Never again does he want to know what it feels like to have him limp in his arms. He has to go back for Aureilo, no one else comfortable with picking him up, and the lifeless weight of the hare is just as bad. He feels wrong in Hotch’s hands, loose limbed and heavy. He lays him in Reid’s lap. Reid’s hand fall down to the hare, stroking his ear. The only sign of life they’ve gotten out of him since Perte followed Maeve.

He brushes Reid’s hand as he steps away, and his fingers come away glimmering.

He doesn’t go with him in the ambulance because he can’t face having to look into those blank, shattered eyes and know that this is what love made of him. He sends Blake instead.

He has something left here to do. “May I have a moment?” he asks the MEs when they come to remove the bodies. “Before you take her?”

They leave them alone, Hal leaning her head against Maeve’s leg and watching them. Waiting. “I’m sorry,” Hotch says finally, after failing to find the words he needs. He wants to tell her everything: how he was ready to watch her have everything he loves and to be happy for her like Reid is happy for Beth. He wants to tell her how lucky she is to have loved and to be loved. That feels cruel at this point, because there’s no one who would say that they’d had enough time together. He wants to say that he would have done anything to save her, because Reid could be happy with her. He would have done anything to save her, because she was a brilliant young mind with so much to live for.

He would have done anything to save her, because it was her right to have a full life. She didn’t deserve to die.

He can’t find the words to say any of that.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “You… you would have been so happy. And I am so sorry I couldn’t give you that.”

 

 

They bury Maeve in the rain. It seems appropriate. Almost like it would be sacrilegious to bury such a promising young woman in the sunshine, not when she should have had so much more time. Her father drops the coin in, but he lets Reid hold it for a moment. He doesn’t want to, tries to back away, but the man insists. He runs his fingers over the maned wolf standing with his legs splayed, head lowered. Guarding. The alloy is slick with rain, but it retains the heat of his palm. A small part of him he sends with her.

He hadn’t told them how Maeve died.

Her father nods sadly as he takes the coin back. He looks wasted, old. A parent should never have to bury their child. “Maeve never let anyone else be sad if she could do something about it. And she usually could. She was… she was brilliant.”

Reid nods. He feels like he’s choking on his tongue, like it’s grown huge and unwieldy in his mouth. “She died protecting me.” The words make him feel ill. The taste of vomit brings him back to that loft, to that _woman’s_ hands on him. The link between him and his dæmon is still numb, still seared by that touch and the agony that had followed.

His eyes meet Reid’s. They’re watery in the cold air surrounding them, but they’re still Maeve’s. “Then you must be something special,” the man says. “Maeve always could tell when someone was special.”

The coin doesn’t make a noise when it falls in the grave, muffled by the rain.

Reid stands by his team and, though none of them say anything, he knows they’re all with him. Emily takes his hand as soon as he turns to face the grave.

She doesn’t let go.

 

 

Hotch waits for Reid, who leaves the graveyard tucked against Emily’s side.

“When are you leaving?” he asks Emily, pulling her aside from the grief-stricken Reid. Her eyes are red, lined with exhaustion and the horror of everything that had happened. He can’t imagine how that phone call would have gone, how JJ and Garcia handled it.

“Tonight,” she says sadly. “I couldn’t get more time off, but I had to be here. Is he going to be okay?”

Reid is waiting by the car silently. Aureilo isn’t there, at home recuperating from his injuries. Reid has been evasive about them. There isn’t much that can be done for dæmon injuries. Surgery is so risky, fatal more often than not. Hotch and Hal worry. “I don’t know.”

Emily sighs, closes her eyes, and bites at her lip. “You’ll be there for him? He needs you, Hotch. Don’t pull away because you think you should give him space. You know what he does when given space. He drowns in it.”

Hotch nods. He would hug her, but they’re both wet from the rain, exhausted from the atmosphere of the day. She walks over to Reid, hugs him close despite that. Whispers something in his ear. Then, she’s gone again, leaving him with the soundless Reid. He doesn’t speak until they’re already driving, looking out the window and watching the world flicker past.

“Do you know what I was thinking as Maeve died?” His voice is monotonous, empty. Hotch waits. He recognises venting when he hears it. “I was thinking ‘this is Foyet all over again.’ I was thinking that I was next to someone I love, and that I was going to fail to save them, again.”

Hotch’s knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. “Reid…”

“That’s not even the worst bit. Do you want to know the worst bit?” His tone has turned savage now. Hotch isn’t sure who it’s aimed it. “I loved her, I swore that I loved her, and I really thought I did, but as she died, _I was thinking of you_. I was thinking of losing you and how much that scared me and how I was just as useless, both times.” He stops, drawing a shuddering breath that sounds painful. Hotch hands him a tissue, easily at hand in a car with a five-year old regularly travelling in it.

“Don’t ever doubt that you love her,” Hotch says eventually, because that’s the only part he feels qualified to tackle. Reid looks at him, and there’s almost hope in his eyes. The unwavering trust that Hotch can save him from the guilt and anger clawing at him. “I saw the way you looked at her. Don’t ever doubt that you love her, because you do. We all saw it. Especially her.”

Reid nods, relaxing slightly. “Okay. Okay. Hotch… Aaron. I just need to go home. Please. My home. I need time to remember.”

“Anything.”

 

 

Hotch calls him. “You don’t have to come back until you’re ready,” he says firmly. Reid can hear Hal clattering about under his feet, her voice a constant hum as she tries to tell him what to say. “This is going to take time.”

“How much time?” Reid asks, because he can’t see an end to missing her.

“It's hard to say, but we're all here for you.”

Reid and Aureilo speak together, in a whisper that they’re not even sure he hears. “ _Thank you_.”

 

 

JJ and Garcia come to his door. “Knock twice if you’re conscious,” Garcia calls through the wood. Despite himself, he almost smiles. Almost. Then, he remembers she’s dead and he’s not sure if there’s ever going to be a reason to smile again.

He knocks twice.

“Is he going to be okay?” he hears Tupelo ask, his scratchy voice worried.

“Eventually,” JJ reassures them. He can imagine her leaning forward, pressing her palm against the wood as though trying to reach him through it. He leans back, puts his own hand against the door. “And he knows we’re always here for him, no matter what!”

“Yeah, what she said!” Garcia and Tupelo call. He’s sure Kailo would have joined, if his voice was loud enough.

Aureilo hobbles painstakingly slowly over to him. It takes far longer to cross the small apartment then Reid could ever have imagined it would, and he feels every bump and jar of his hare’s injuries. “We know,” Aureilo whispers, crawling into Reid’s lap and laying on his side, eyes narrowed in pain. “We know. And we love you guys for it.”

 

 

The jet without Reid is silent, as though Maeve has taken a part of all of them with her. Maybe she has. Hotch knows for sure that he lost something in that room.

The Spencer Reid of the days following Maeve’s death is no longer the Spencer of before.

And he never will be.

 

 

Rossi and Morgan leaves voicemails. Morgan’s is about work. Tempting him to call back. Drawing him out of his apartment so he can pounce and find out if he’s okay. It’s sweet, if blatantly obvious. And it will work. Reid knows it will.

Rossi’s is different. He knows the man wouldn’t have let anyone hear him leaving it.

**“Reid. It’s Dave. I know you don’t want to hear from us, you just want to be alone to remember her. But I want you to know; there is an end to what you’re feeling. One day you’ll wake up and you’ll forget to feel sad. You’ll forget that she’s gone, just for a moment. You’ll feel okay. And then the badness will come back. But you’ll remember how it feels to be okay again—and when that moment comes, kiddo, we’re right here waiting for you. No matter how long it takes.”**

He listens to it five times. He has it memorized on the first.

He saves it anyway.

 

 

Emily texts. Once a day, whether he responds or not. She doesn’t say anything about Maeve, or loss, or grief. She knows he has the team for that. He reads them all.

**Emily – Did you know Antarctica has the highest average IQ of any continent? I bet none of them are as smart as you.**

**Emily – I went to get a coffee today and they messed it up. Gave me some sugary froth-filled monstrosity. You’d have liked it.**

**Emily – Some guy at work was talking about a scientific study where they attached stilts to ants. That sounds like something weird you’d do.**

**Emily – Sergio fell in the bath today. He didn’t want me to tell you. So I’m sending a picture for you to show Aur.**

**To Emily – I miss you.**

**Emily – I miss you too. A father and son matched against each other in some Scrabble comp. Dad won by playing "DEFEATED". I thought you’d appreciate the sass that would have taken.**

He’s grateful for his friends.

 

 

He’s unshaven, pallid. His hair is lank, stringy with grease, and Hotch thinks that if his eyes were any more bruised, he wouldn’t be able to see out of them.

He looks like a man sinking in his own sorrow.

“Spence,” JJ breathes, and takes him in her arms, pulls him close. Reid lets her, folding into her embrace like he craves it. Aureilo is in his arms, a bizarre sight. The hare would normally die rather than be carried about like a pet, but the injuries he’d taken are slow to heal and leave him awkward and cautious on his own four paws. If Hotch didn’t hate the woman who killed Maeve Donovan for what she’d done to Reid and the future he’d had his heart set on, he would have despised her alone for what she’d done to Aureilo. He’s not sure how much of that burning fury is his and how much is Hal’s. He’s not sure there’s a difference.

“I didn't expect you back this soon. You sure you’re ready?” He’s gentle, easing him in. If Reid isn’t ready to be back, they’re not going to force him. He doesn’t look ready. But Reid’s spent the last eight years surprising Aaron Hotchner, and he isn’t going to stop now.

“No,” the man admits, shifting the hare carefully in his grasp and limping over to him. “But we think we’ve worked something out.”

 

 

Blake comes to him. Sits in his apartment and studies his books, drinks tea with him. They don’t talk about Maeve. They don’t talk about who she’s lost, because he can see it in her, the way she recognises his mourning and is repelled by the familiarity of it. They play chess. They do crosswords. It’s living, in its own quiet, calm way. It’s moving forward.

He only mentions it once. A name. A question. “Perte.” He already knows the answer.

She sips her tea, puts the cup down gently. Traces her nail across the lip, feeling the long crack that runs along the handle. “You already know. You wouldn’t be asking me otherwise. Do you want me to tell you the origin of the name, or do you want some sort of reassurance that this was fate? That nothing you could have done in there would have changed anything?”

His voice is almost inaudible. “I don’t know.”

Tod answers from where he’s curled around Aureilo, the hare almost invisible under the fluffy tail he’s burrowed into. “Perte. French. From Vulgar Latin  _perdita_ , from the feminine of Latin  _perditus_.”

“Ruin,” Reid murmurs.

“Loss,” Blake corrects him, moving her queen. “You did all you could. A name doesn’t change that.”

He moves his knight. “Checkmate.”

She smiles and resets the board.

 

 

Hotch lets himself in. Reid didn’t even know he had a key. He has Jack with him. Reid doesn’t want Jack to see him like this, so he showers, and he dresses, and he shaves. Which was Hotch’s intention,bringing his son here.

When he comes out, Jack gives him a candle.

“What’s this?” he asks huskily, holding the candle in his hands and examining it. It’s used, well used. He can see Jack’s fingerprints all over it, grubby in the soft wax.

“We use it to talk to Mommy,” Jack says in his serious voice. Reid almost crumples right there. “Daddy said you lost someone very special to you. This way you can still talk to her when you want to. Why are you crying?”

Reid smiles at him, probably frightening him even more as he turns to look at his dad. Hotch takes his hand. “He’s crying because he’s very sad that Maeve is dead,” Hotch says quietly. “And because he’s very happy that you did this for him.”

“How can he be happy and sad at the same time?”

“It happens a lot when you love people,” Reid reassures him, reaching out and pulling the boy into a hug. “And I love you Jack, so, so much. Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell Maeve just what you did for us.”

“Can I talk to her too? In case you get sad?”

“Of course. We’ll do it together.”

 

 

Time passes. Reid recovers. They’d known he would. Grief never goes away, not completely, but it does fade. Aureilo’s limp doesn’t, and Reid’s only fades slightly. Just like his ear and Kailo’s tattered wing, they bear the scars of their past. Under Hal’s fur on her chest, there’s a ragged reminder of Foyet’s gun. It’s not the only one. Hotch’s body is covered in them.

The others have scars that aren’t visible, but are just as painful.

“Sunday dinners, Hotch?” Reid says the first week Hotch invites him over. “Why? So Rossi can finally crow that we’ve become doddering old men?”

“Because Jack misses you,” Hotch says. “And because I’m not going to let you lock yourself in your apartment until you forget that you have a life outside, with us. You didn’t die that day. Don’t let yourself live like you did.” Because when Emily ‘died’ he left Reid alone to cope, and it cost him everything. He’s not making that mistake again.

Reid doesn’t answer him.

But, on Sunday, he’s there. And every Sunday after.

 

 

The nightmares continue. Because they are nightmares, he knows this now. Sometimes, he reaches her and she asks him to dance. There’s no relief at seeing her face. There’s just the guilt of losing her and it makes him pull away. He doesn’t wake up screaming from these dreams. He wakes up silent and alone and his face is wet.

He balances his sleeping carefully. Just enough to continue adequate brain functions. Adequate is still enough for him to do his job. Not enough to slip into the nightmares.

Rossi sits next to him on the jet one day. “Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Sal?” Reid shakes his head. “He liked to fix up old cars. When my Aunt Rosie died, he bought a 1947 Buick. Well, it was a piece of junk, really, but he was obsessed with it. He’d work on it day and night, forgetting to eat, until it was a thing of beauty.” He stops, leans back in his chair. Reid’s not entirely sure where he’s going with this.

Eris shuffles across the back of the chair. “Then’ one day, it got stolen. When the cops found it, it had been completely vandalized. Uncle Sal was devastated. Never recovered. He died about a year later.” Her talons grip the tough leather tightly.

“I’m sorry about your uncle,” Reid says, because he feels like he’s being cornered and he’s too tired to think of a way to escape.

Rossi fiddles with his pen. Clicks it. “I’m sorry about Maeve. So, how long has it been now? Four months?”

“Three months and fifteen days.” He could tell him down to the hour. He doesn’t.

He jumps as Rossi touches his hand. Meets his eyes. The other man’s expression is soft, worried. “That’s why you're not sleeping. This can’t go on.”

Aureilo shifts in the chair, his leg held out awkwardly. “We realize that the socially acceptable amount of time to wallow in grief is coming to an end, and—”

Eris clacks her beak at the hare, a clear sign to shut up. “That’s not what we mean. You wallow as long as you need, we told you that at the start, but talk to someone. Talk to us.”

“I do talk to people,” Reid insists. “I talk to Emily. I have dinner with Hotch. JJ always, _always_ , asks me how I am even when she’s having a worse day than I am. Morgan comes over and tells me off about my shopping habits, makes sure I’m eating. It’s not helping, I… I thought the pain would lessen. If I got back to normal. But it hasn’t. You know that I remember every single word we ever said to each other?”

Eris chuckles. “Finally, the downside to an eidetic memory.”

Rossi: “Listen, Spencer. If you want to feel better, you can't control the process. You have to let yourself grieve.”

He shudders, and opens up, for the first time since Maeve died. He hasn’t told anyone else about the dreams, not even Hotch. It bursts forth in a torrent that _hurts_ : “I’m not sleeping because when I do, I dream of Maeve. And when I see her, I turn away. She always asks me to dance, but I can’t because I let her _die,_ and I never even got to touch her when she was alive. I know if I give into that fantasy, I'll be lost forever, so I force myself to wake up. Is _that_ part of normal healing?”

A slow silence settles as Rossi considers that. When he finally replies, it’s slow and thoughtful: “It’s… alchemy. Alchemy turns common metals into precious ones. Dreams work the same way. Turning something awful into something better. Just let it happen. Turn that overworked brain off for once, and let it happen.”

“Okay,” Reid says, but he’s not sure if he will. He’s not sure if he can.

 

 

Reid helps him wash up after dinner on Sunday. Jack and Arelys are quiet in the other room, colouring together with Arelys holding the pencils in her mouth and running about with the tip on the paper. Aureilo and Hal watch over them together, occasionally commenting on a choice of colour. Hotch can practically taste the exhaustion coming off the other man, the result of months of insomnia. He wishes he could hold him and wipe away all the pain and grief the man has suffered, suffer it himself instead. Give him a break from it to recover.

There’s only so long someone can hurt before it becomes too much.

“How’s Beth?” Reid asks when the silence becomes too heavy. His voice is throaty and deep, grating.

Hotch nods and scrubs at a particularly stubborn spot of grease with the scourer. His hands sting slightly under the hot water, the soap coating his skin. “She’s good. We’re going to go visit her sometime soon, Jack and me. She loves her job.” He realizes that he doesn’t have anything else to say. His conversations with Beth on the phone are one-sided. Him talking about work or Jack. Her mentioning her own work. Nothing personal. There’s a gulf between them. He’s sad about it, but not surprised. These things happen.

Reid nods and the towel squeaks over the glass he’s drying. He turns it over in his long hands, examining it. _World’s Best Dad._ Jessica had brought it for him when Jack was a baby. She’d said every house needs one. His house had two, she’d brought one for Reid after he’d moved in. Hotch isn’t sure which one Reid is holding, but he’s sure Reid knows. “That’s good. She’s good… for you.” He’s tentative. Hotch isn’t sure why. Maybe the reminder of other people’s happiness stings. Hotch looks away, allowing him this moment.

Reid normally leaves after dinner, back to his own quiet apartment. Hotch doesn’t want him to tonight. He needs to see him recover, just a little. “Watch a movie with us?” he suggests, emptying the sink and nabbing the corner of the dish-towel Reid is using. Reid stands still holding the towel, waiting for Hotch to finish drying his hands before folding it. “Jack’s too keyed up for bed.”

Reid hesitates again, thinks about it. Jack laughs in the other room, Aureilo joining in two seconds later. “Alright,” he says finally, smiling tiredly.

Hotch sits on the armchair, puts on one of Jack’s kid movies, letting Reid take the couch. The movie is one they’ve seen before, multiple times. Jack sits on his lap, asleep before the fish leave the reef. When he glances over at the couch half an hour later, Reid’s eyes are closed and his face is relaxed for the first time in months.

He’s smiling.

Hotch takes Jack to bed, comes back down, and dims the lights. He throws a blanket over Reid and pulls the door shut behind him, leaving the man to his rest. He settles in his office with a book and waits, the silence of the house, for once, comforting.

 

 

Maeve is in front of him and he misses her so much it hurts. She smiles warily, waiting for him to leave. He stays. For the first time, with Rossi’s voice echoing in his mind, he stays.

“You know, there is such a thing as too much logic,” she says, stepping forward. There’s a flicker of movement around them: Aureilo and Perte. Aureilo’s ears are intact and his stride is quick and confident again as he bounces around Perte, inviting him to play. “You overthink things.”

“I don’t know how to dance with you,” Reid stammers.

She shrugs. “It’s just like dancing with Aaron. You lead, I follow. If it’s right, it will work.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“It will.” She holds her arm out again and the music begins, a hauntingly familiar tune. “Please, Spencer. I want to hold you once before I’m a ghost of a memory.”

He dances with her. It’s the sweetest relief imaginable.

The dream ends, and he sleeps.

 

 

He can still hear the music when he wakes up, filtering softly through from the other room. He gets up, carefully so he doesn’t disturb Aureilo, and pads through to the door. Aureilo watches him go with a half-opened eye, settling back into the couch.

“Feel better?” Hotch asks, lowering the book he’s reading and smiling warmly at him. Reid smiles back. The after-effects of the dream linger in his heart making his blood hum, but the details blur and twist from his memory. He knows he’ll forget it. Even his memory has trouble with dreams. That’s just how dreams work. He knows he won’t have it again. He doesn’t mind.

“Much better,” he says, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He feels awake, revitalized. “I should go. I’m sorry for falling asleep on you.”

Hotch laughs gently. “Sorry? Reid, since when have you even able to stay awake throughout that movie?”

“The first four times we watched it,” he defends himself. Hotch walks up to him as they move towards the door, passes him his coat. “It’s now been fifty-eight times.”

“You counted?”

Reid smirks, turns to face Hotch as he shrugs his coat on. “Of course.” He stalls as he realizes how close they are, Hotch’s hand still on the coat. His heart kicks once, settles again into a slow patter. This is another dance he knows, and it has two choices. Two paths he could follow.

He could leave. Something awful.

When Hotch leans in, Reid doesn’t pull away. He lets their lips meet, tentatively, unsure at first. It takes them a moment to relearn each other, to adjust. Reid brings his hand up onto Hotch’s elbow, draws him closer.

He could stay. Something better.

When Aaron steps back and pulls him towards the stairs, towards the bedroom, he doesn’t resist. He doesn’t overthink it. He just goes.

It’s almost like coming home.


	29. An uncaring wind

Aaron is slow with him, almost tediously slow, as though worried that a false move will shatter him like cracked glass. Reid whines impatiently as careful fingers undress him, trying to take control to speed up the proceedings. His whole body is almost vibrating with strain, the coiled desire of months of waiting and longing trying to release all at once. Aaron stills him, pushes him back down.

Leaving no question as to whom is in charge of these proceedings.

Reid lets Aaron slip the shirt from his shoulders and falls back onto the bed, gasping slightly as the other man straddles him and trails his mouth down his bare chest. “Aaron,” he gasps, feeling those lips ghost lower. He’s still in his pants, his belt, he’s harder than he’s been in months and Aaron has barely touched him yet.

Dark eyes meet his as the man lifts his head to look at him, slipping back up to press their mouths together. He starts off slow, careful, just lips and a flicker of tongue. Within minutes it changes; there’s teeth and a wet, pressing need to the kiss that steals Reid’s breath away.

Aaron is flat across him, his own clothes in disarray from Reid’s exploring hands as they trace remembered paths across his body; supporting himself with a hand on the bed near Reid’s ear. He moans into Reid’s mouth, and presses closer as though trying to make themselves one with sheer closeness. Reid’s body jerks with a shock of yearning as Aaron presses in, feeling the other man’s hips rock against him once, desperately seeking friction on Reid’s thigh.

He tries to sit up and Aaron pushes him down again, sliding his hands slowly along Reid’s side and making him squirm. “Do you know,” Aaron pants against him, biting gently at the skin of his chest and blowing hot air along it, leaving trails of goosebumps as he goes. “How many nights…” He pauses to trail his tongue down his stomach— _lower, just a little, please—_ one hand holding his hip as it stutters up, seeking him. “How many nights I’ve dreamed of you like this?”

“I don’t… don’t, ah,” Reid stammers, tilting his head back for a second because there’s a tongue tracing along his waist now, along the outline of his hip and groin and a hot hand on his thigh and he’s so close to him, so close… “I don’t know.”

Aaron laughs and his eyes are dark and wide. “Something you don’t know,” he teases, undoing Reid’s fly with one hand without breaking eye contact with him. “Remarkable. How could you not know? All those nights I spent at home, in my bed alone, and I’d dream of you with me, under me. God, I’d dream of you _inside me_ , Spencer…” There’s a hand slipping into his pants and he buckles, trying to encourage that hand to find him because he wants and Aaron _isn’t going fast enough._

“Shut up,” Reid hisses, despite his curiosity. “Aaron, what are you doing? _Do something.”_

There’s another laugh and, this time, the breath ghosts across Reid because his pants are open and there’s only his underwear between Aaron and him, but the man seems determined to take him apart before giving him any relief.

“Oh? You don’t want me to tell you about how I’d wake up thinking about you?” Aaron murmurs, and the barest touch of his thumb rolling across his crotch is enough to have Reid lifting an arm to his mouth to muffle a moan. “I’d wake up horny and so fucking _hard…”_ He pauses again which is good because Reid has jerked his head up to stare at him as he says that, and the sound of it is almost enough to undo him without Aaron even touching him. “And I’d lay here, right here, and make myself come while thinking of you looking like you do now, the taste of you on my lips…”

He ducks his head and mouths at the front of Reid’s underwear, rolling his tongue over him with aggravating slowness and Reid chokes, gasps, falls to pieces. He can’t do this, he can’t listen to Aaron saying these things, because he’s never going to forget them and just the thought of it is enough to make him lose his mind. “Aaron, Aaron, Aaron,” he chants, reaching down with one hand to touch him, to touch any part of him, just needing to feel him and know this is real. He cards his fingers through dark hair as Aaron shudders and moans slightly, humming against Reid’s crotch. He can feel the other man twitching against his leg, his own hand wrapped around himself, teasing himself with the memory.

“You’d come into work and look at me and I thought you must know, you must see it on me,” Aaron murmurs, as though confessing a sin. “I would tease myself by saying you knew and the thought of it turned you on just as much as it did me.” Another flicker of eyes on Reid’s face, and he sees the other man smirk.

Reid shakes his head, hips shifting almost unconsciously under Aaron’s hand. “I didn’t… I couldn’t know that. I never would have imagined…” His words are thick, it’s a struggle to get them out past the tightening of muscles in his chest, caught up in tension and waiting for release, any sort of release.

“There were days…” Aaron pauses to slide two fingers through his underwear and trail them slowly down him. Reid is horrified to hear a startled whine come from his mouth and helpless to stop it. “…when I’d call you into my office and talk about work, but the scent of you alone would have me half-aroused and imagining fucking you across my desk.” In one swift move, he pulls Reid’s cock out, slipping rough fingers around him once, twice, before taking him deep into his mouth.

This time, Reid does call out, sharp and low all at once, shoving his arm back against his mouth and groaning into it, closing his eyes as his vision tunnels. His other hand presses against the bed, fingers digging cruelly into the sheets. Aaron’s mouth is wet and ready and there and he can feel the other man’s hips rocking against him in a fast tattoo of longing.

“Fuck, oh fuck, Aaron,” he chants into his arm, knowing his words are probably impossible to discern. He’s on the edge, teetering over, but there’s a finger pressed against the base of him and it holds him there, teasing, relentless. He’s shaking with it, heart hammering, and he can’t survive this, no one could. “Please, please, stop.”

Aaron pauses and pulls away, mouth coming free with a soft sound, and his expression when he looks up is wicked. “Stop?” he asks, smiling mockingly and Reid shakes his head because that’s not what he meant, he can’t think, can’t voice what he wants, except that it’s more than this. “Tell me, Doctor…”, and _god,_ that shouldn’t be so hot, hearing him say that, except it is, and Reid is wrecked, “…were there times when you dreamed of me?”

Reid nods even though his mind has turned to mush and if he tries to tell him about those times all he’ll manage is this, right now, this moment, because that’s what his world has narrowed to. He nods because there were days when he couldn’t think for the wanting of him, and he thought he’d go mad with the loneliness of it. There were days when he’d press the scarf he’d never returned to his mouth and nose and come _—never tell him about that, never—_ with the scent of him in his mouth and his name on the tip of his tongue.

“Yes,” he whispers instead and that’s seems to be what Aaron was looking for because the hand disappears and the mouth takes him again, quick and fast and needy. It’s not long before Reid feels himself fall off the edge and pulse into that mouth, arching slightly off the bed as Aaron swallows greedily. He’s boneless, helpless, but it’s okay because Aaron doesn’t need his help as he slides back up in one fluid moment and claims him, their mouths locked together and his lips thick with the salty taste of him. He kisses with desperation and Reid can taste copper on his tongue, feel the way the other man is shaking as though barely holding himself back.

He moves just enough to roll against the bed, and Aaron catches his arm, confused for a moment. Reid reaches out, catching the drawer with the tips of his fingers, and Aaron knows. “Spencer,” he asks, voice strained with the sudden desire of what Reid is offering, and Reid can see that he isn’t the only one dancing on the edge.

“I want this,” Reid replies with a voice that jitters. “Want you. I always have.”

It’s enough for Aaron and there’s fumbling and they don’t take enough time to prepare which is fine because Reid is sensitive and the barest brush of fingers against him has him whimpering, and it’s _fine_ because Reid _likes_ the bite of pain that comes with it, just the smallest amount. He’s on his belly and there’s a weight on him and in him and Aaron is kissing the back of his neck, moving quickly and whimpering to himself with a broken voice. It’s fine that Reid is almost too sore for this, because it’s over fast, too fast, and Reid feels him finishing inside and he doesn’t want to break apart.

But, they do. He thinks it’s over, except, instead, of standing to clean himself off, Aaron wraps his arms around Reid and pulls him close, slipping off the bed so they’re on the floor. They’re on the floor, sweaty and naked and sticky, and Aaron pulls him against his chest and holds him as tight as though he’s worried if he lets go, Reid will float away. He’s shaking against him and Reid doesn’t ask, because it almost feels like he’s crying.

When he mumbles something into Reid’s hair, something that sounds lost and fragmented, Reid doesn’t answer because it almost sounds like, “I love you.”

 

 

He wakes in the morning and Reid is sitting on the side of the bed, awake with the morning light casting a cool glow over his sharp features. He’s dressed, impeccably. Hotch’s heart sinks. Reid only ever dresses after when he wants to create a barrier between himself and the events of the night before, a shield against Hotch himself.

Reid glances back at him, hazel eyes dim and worried, guilty. “Beth,” he says, and closes his eyes, pulls that name into himself. Hotch knows what he’s doing. He’s adding her name to the list he keeps of everyone he failed, everyone he believes he’s wronged.

“Don’t,” Hotch says, reaching up and catching his thin wrist in a gentle grip. “Spencer, don’t do this. Don’t blame yourself. This isn’t your betrayal. It’s mine. I’m the only one who carries this.”

He shakes his hand free and stands, looking down at him with a sad smile. “You don’t get it, do you Aaron? It’s not sex with us. It never has been. There’s… there’s so much more between us. And now we’ve made it _cheap_.” His words make Hotch feel sick. He sinks into the bed, the sheets cool against his body. Their room smells like sweat, like them.

Their room. Since when had he started calling it their room again? _I never stopped calling it ours,_ he realizes with a thrill. _Beth, I should… I should never have pulled you into this._

“I’m going to see her in a week,” he says. “I’ll talk to her then. I won’t make excuses, there’s no excuse for what I did to either of you. But this is my burden to bear alone.”

Reid snorts. “There were two of us involved, in case you didn’t count. And besides…” he leans down and catches Hotch’s mouth, drawing him into a hungry kiss. He doesn’t pull away before speaking, the low hum of his voice reverberating through Hotch’s body. “Your burdens have always been mine to share.”

And then he’s gone, leaving nothing behind but a faint warmth on the sheets next to Hotch, and the faintest recollection of the touch of his skin.

 

 

She knows as soon as she opens the door to him. Jack bounds past to greet Coop, and the dæmon takes one look at their faces and herds the boy and his dæmon into another room.

“It’s not you, it’s me?” she teases as he walks in. Her smile doesn’t match her eyes. “We’ve just grown apart? Or is it my favourite, ‘there’s someone else’?”

“Beth…”

She shakes her head. “Oh, of course it’s the latter. Because I don’t need to be a profiler to see that you’re looking guilty as sin right now, Aaron. And I _really_ don’t need to hear you justifying it. I have some pride, not that you’d think it.”

Hal slinks past, tail between her legs and slips into the other room, leaving them alone. “I’m not going to justify it,” Hotch says quietly. “There’s no justifying what I did to you.”

She swallows hard and looks away. He can see anger warring with hurt on her features, but she keeps it together. She’s always been the composed one. “It’s Spencer, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry…”

“No, you’re not.” There’s a snap to her voice now, along with a pained resignation. “Oh, come on, Aaron. Let’s not kid ourselves. You’ve had one foot out the door this entire relationship.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then look me in the eye and tell me that if at any point, _any point at all_ , Spencer Reid had come knocking at our door… tell me you wouldn’t have gone running.”

He tries. He does. But he can’t say it.

“Did you ever love me at all?”

“Yes!” This he defends vehemently. “Of course! I didn’t lie about that.”

She steps forward and lays a hand on his face. He flinches back from it. He doesn’t deserve kindness, any kindness. Not from her. Not when he’d betrayed her. He’d known full well what he was doing when Spencer had followed him to his room. And he’d done it anyway.

He can’t even say whether or not he’d do it again.

“I believe you,” she murmurs, eyes studying him intently. “God knows why, but I believe you when you say that. But you never did love me as much as you love him, did you?”

His phone rings, breaking the tension. “Sean,” he says, holding the phone loosely in one hand and frowning at it. “What…”

“Your brother, Sean?” Beth asks, her own face furrowing in confusion. “I thought you guys weren’t on speaking terms?”

“I have to answer this,” he says apologetically. She waves her hand, stepping back and walking into the other room. He can hear her greeting Jack excitedly, as though their relationship hadn’t just come crashing to a fiery end. She could be an agent. Her compartmentalizing is impressive.

“Aaron, thank _god_.” Sean sounds… like Sean. In a bucket load of trouble once more. But, then again, he’d hardly be calling out of the blue for the first time in years for a ‘hello’. And, here it is: “Uh, I got mixed up in something. I need your help.”

Damn. “What’s happened?”

A shaky breath, and Sean chokes back a nervous laugh. “This girl, she died right in my arms.” He groans, and Hotch closes his eyes for a moment, resignation sinking in. “Look, I need to see you.”

“Sean, if you’re a witness to something, you need to stay put. I’m in Manhattan. I'll come to you. Where are you?”

“Club called the Edinburgh. Aaron… thanks, man.”

“All right, I’m on my way. I'll text you when I'm close.” He hangs up and turns to find Hal watching him with her ears flat against her skull.

“That sounded serious,” she says slowly, lowering her head. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch sighs, running his fingers through his hair anxiously. “Shit, we have to take Jack to a crime scene.”

“You can leave him here,” Beth says quietly, stepping back in. “I’m not going to punish Jack because you messed up, Aaron. I’ll look after him while you sort this out.” Coop wanders out after her, bares his teeth at Hal in a quick flash of white. The meaning is clear. _I’m doing this for Jack. Not you._

It’s more than he deserves. “Could you? I’m so sorry, Beth, I never meant to hurt you.”

Coop speaks and Hotch realizes with a shock that it’s the first time he’s heard his voice. “Yeah well, you weren’t exactly thinking about our feelings when you took Spencer Reid to your bed were you?”

“Coop, hush,” Beth scolds him. “Go, Aaron. He’s your brother and he needs you. Jack will be fine with us. We’ll… make a fort, or something.”

As the door closes behind him, it sinks in that this is the end of something.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it should.

 

 

Sean looks exactly the same. Blonde hair, carefree attitude. Chain smoking outside his club, fingers shaking as he lifts the lighter to his lips. His otter dæmon sitting neatly at his feet gives Aaron a moment of pause. He’d forgotten about Sean’s dæmon. She reminds him of Arelys, and that sends a cold bolt of something deep into his gut. He doesn’t want _anything_ about Sean reminding him of Jack.

“I didn’t think you could still smoke in New York,” Hotch says bluntly when he walks up to him. Hal glares at Par with the full strength of her disapproval.

Sean rolls his eyes. “You’re not even gonna warm up to the big brother act?” He drops the lighter in his pocket and crosses his arms, looking down at Hal. “Hi, Halaimon.”

“Sean,” she greets him coolly. “Paarthurnax. I thought you were a chef now. What happened to the restaurant?”

“You know…” Sean shrugs. “It was a long time ago. Shit happened. I’m a bartender now.”

Shit happened pretty much sums up the entirety of Sean’s life. Sometimes, Hotch wishes they were small again and he could just shake some sense into him instead of picking up the pieces of his shattered life. Not that that has been his problem for a long time now. Sean has only ever met Jack twice, and not since before Haley died. He hadn’t gone to the funeral.

He’d never met Beth. He’d never even known about Reid.

“Start from the beginning,” Hotch says, as Hal’s hackles begin to rise. Par sneers at her, baring short white fangs. “What happened tonight?”

 

 

“We’re going to New York,” Rossi announces, walking in with Strauss right behind him. She glares at his back, clearly ruffled that he’d cut in before she could say so.

“Hotch is in New York,” Reid says, sitting bolt upright. “Has something happened to Hotch? He hasn’t called me, is he okay?”

The team stare at him.

“No, but your concern has been… noted,” Rossi says with a smirk. JJ whistles under her breath. Blake looks confused, then suspicious, then… shocked. Morgan just groans and mutters something Reid can’t hear as he sinks back into his chair with his cheeks burning. Way to lose his cool in a room of profilers.

A room of profilers, and Strauss.

She stares at him as she talks. “Aaron’s brother, Sean Hotchner, called about a suspected OD at the nightclub he works at. According to the MEs, the victims had so much MDMA in their systems that it caused their internal body temperature to go out of control. We’ve had five deaths so far, and it looks like there’s going to be more.”

“So, we’re meeting up with… Hotch…” Rossi pauses for effect, and Reid drops his head into his hands, completely giving up on subtly. “… as soon as possible. As I’m sure we’re _all_ super excited about.”

“Dave,” Strauss warns, and Rossi subsides. Reid narrows his eyes. No one ever pulls Rossi back that quickly. Even Hotch struggles when the man is on a roll. Looks like he isn’t the only one hiding something. “I’ll be accompanying you,” Strauss finishes, glancing back at Reid, and there’s a definite point to her voice. “This team has a history of going rogue when loved ones are involved.” Aureilo itches innocently at his ear as her clouded leopard leans over him and twitches his tail.

“Hey,” JJ murmurs as Strauss and Rossi leave the room together. “Isn’t Hotch in New York with Beth?” Reid’s cheeks flare up again, cold trickling down his spine at the reminder. He knows they can all see the guilt in his posture, even as he hunches over to hide his face.

“Oh, _Reid_ ,” Morgan sighs. “Come on, man, really?”

“It’s not like we planned it!” Aureilo snaps hotly, guilt making him tetchy.

The disapproving silence says it all, but JJ still pats him on the shoulder as she passes.

 

 

“Talk to Sean for me?” Hotch winces at the pleading tone he’s failed to hide.

Rossi turns to him, eyebrows twitching as he tries to contain his amusement. “Because I’m an unbiased third party? I remind you, you could also send Reid in there since Reid has never attempted to drink your brother under the table. And succeeded, mind you.”

“Ha ha. Hilarious, Dave. I don’t… I don’t want him meeting Reid.”

“I would be concerned that you’re ashamed for your brother to know you’re dating a man, but I think this is more a case of you being ashamed of your brother. He’s not so bad.”

Hotch chokes. “I’m not… Reid and I aren’t together.”

A lazy smirk from his friend confirms it. Reid should never be allowed around profilers. For a kid from Vegas, he has a shit poker face. “I’m assuming by the familiar ‘I’ve just had my ass dumped’ expression on your face, you and Beth aren’t together anymore either. Tsk. I could have warned you, one cannot have cake and fuck it too.”

“You’re lecturing me? You successfully slept your way out of three marriages.”

“Two. I cheated on Carolyn with the work. I’m not judging you. Well, I’m judging you a little. I mistakenly believed that you’re cleverer than I am.”

“Dave…”

“Alright, alright. I’ll talk to him. Brothers, hey? Who needs them?”

 

 

Reid finds Hotch staring at his hands, deep in thought. Hal watches them approach, tail twitching minutely. “Still no word from Sean?” he asks his boss carefully. Hotch shakes his head without looking up.

“We’ll find him, Aaron,” Aureilo assures him, limping over and leaning against Hal.

“How does a guy who has everything going for him make one self-destructive choice after another?” Hotch asks after a long moment. “And then when it seems like he's going to get his act together, it all falls apart again.”

“Were you two ever close?” Reid doesn’t have siblings. He can’t imagine the bond that Aaron has with Sean. Or, rather, the lack of one.

“I was the screw-up making bad choices, everyone compared me to him. Unfavourably. But at a certain point, I realized I could either continue to do that or I could get my act together. At the same time, Sean seemed to realize that life was easier if he went off the rails. He never worked out that he was wasting it.”

“I know he didn’t come to Haley’s funeral,” Reid says, remembering the way Hotch had scanned the crowd hopefully.

Hotch nods sadly. “And at that point I decided I couldn't make him a priority anymore.”

Reid doesn’t say it, but by the look on Hotch’s face, he’s thinking it as well. If this case goes the way they suspect it’s going, Hotch won’t have a choice in the matter anymore.

 

 

Hotch picks up Jack. Beth doesn’t look him in the eye as she says goodbye. They both know whatever they had had ended the moment Hotch had decided to kiss Reid at his front door. Neither is surprised.

It’s quiet at the hotel. Jack and Arelys pick up on their dad’s dark mood, and quietly sit in front of the TV, shooting nervous glances at him occasionally. He should go over there and smile, laugh, reassure them that everything is fine. Instead, he moodily stares at the ice melting in the bottom of his empty glass and considers that, maybe, there’s just something about him that destroys all his relationships. His brother, Beth, Reid, Haley… all of them, repelled by something about him.

A knock at the door. He ignores it.

Reid lets himself in anyway and Hotch isn’t going to ask how, because then that will lead to Reid smiling and deflecting and probably a conversation about the apartment key Hotch keeps tucked in his wallet in case of emergencies.

“Are you drinking?” Reid asks. Aureilo scampers past him, claws skittering on the tiled floor, greeting Jack and Arelys with enthusiasm.

“Not currently,” Hotch says snidely. “As you can see, the glass is empty.”

Reid blinks, tilts his head. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

His colleague slides onto the chair across from him, takes the glass. Tilts it back and tastes the remains of the ice cubes. Hotch watches them disappear into his mouth, leaving his lips wet. “This tastes awful.”

“That’s because it’s now just water with the barest hint of bourbon.” Despite himself, he smiles at the way Reid’s nose wrinkles in disgust. Reid hates bourbon. He could have warned him.

Reid shrugs, rolling his shoulders as though to ease tension out of them, slumping in the chair. His sleeves are rolled up. Hotch can see the scar where the bullet tore through his bicep, still pink and raw. Healing. “Rossi’s sleeping with Strauss.”

“I know.” He’s known for months. He wasn’t going to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole. In no way does he want to even think about Strauss like… that. “He’s a braver man than I.”

“Braver than me as well. I don’t… are you expecting someone?”

There’s another knock at the door, this one hesitant. Unfamiliar. Hotch frowns. “I wasn’t even expecting you.”

Sean. Of course. “Hey, Aaron,” he says nervously, Par curled around his shoulders. “You busy?” Hotch steps aside reluctantly to let him in. Reid peers around at him, still sitting at the table, tracing his finger around the rim of Hotch’s glass. His eyes linger on Par for a long moment. Jack stands and studies them curiously, Arelys bouncing in excitement at seeing another otter.

“Jack, Arelys, this is your Uncle Sean,” Hotch introduces them carefully. “Sean, this is Dr. Reid, a colleague, and you’ve met Jack.”

“You’ve gotten so big, buddy,” Sean says, and Hotch can hear the shock in his tone. As though he hadn’t realized the rest of the world was still spinning even as he drunk and smoked his way through it. “Wow, when I last saw you…” He trails off and his voice turns guilty. Remembering Haley.

Reid stands and nods. “Nice to meet you, Sean. Thank you for your help with calling us in on this case.”

Sean holds his hand out to shake, and Reid swallows hard and does his awkward shuffle-wave and half-smile back. “He doesn’t shake,” Hotch explains. “You know… germs.” By the look on Sean’s face, that’s not exactly an adequate answer.

“How about I take Jack down to see if Morgan has any cool stories to tell him?” Reid suggests, sensing Sean’s anxiousness. “Come on, Jack.” Jack sidles over to Reid nervously, and takes his hand, sliding his other hand around his leg and clinging close. Arelys does the same, sensing her human’s disquiet, whiskers twitching.

“Cya, shortie,” Sean says with a forced smile as they leave. Jack shoots one last glance over his shoulder as they go, resolutely silent. Hal snuffs against Aureilo’s fur quickly as he goes, running her nose down his spine, before returning to her usual rigid posture of readiness. “Your kid hates me, man.”

“My kid doesn’t know you. You hardly strained yourself to become a part of his life.”

Sean huffs, eyes skittering over to Hal and narrowing. “Yeah because you’re such a bastion of brotherly love. Or were you just planning on never telling me that you’re fucking men now?”

Hotch freezes as a lump of something hard and sickly takes up residence in his gut, the weight of all of his insecurities around his brother. “I don’t…”

“You know, I’ve always been able to tell when you try to lie to me, Aaron. Call it brotherly intuition. And Hal, Hal wouldn’t even tussle with Par when we were kids. I don’t think she ever, _ever_ , in her life nuzzled _anyone_. And yet, you just let your kid walk out of here with some guy you work with and Hal was practically fawning over his dæmon. I don’t give a shit what does it for you, bro, but I do care about you. How long has that been a thing?”

He doesn’t need to answer this. He doesn’t owe Sean anything. But, they both know this will be the last time for a long time that they have a chance to talk. “Six years,” he says finally, and Sean reels. “I’m not with him now… but I was. For four years of that, and some.”

“Shit. Well… shit,” Sean says finally. “I should have known that. I should… I should know Jack. And this Reid, I should know him, if he’s important to you. When this is all over, when… it’s done, I want to do better by you.”

His brother is always promising to do better. What makes this time any different?

Hal stands slowly. “We’d like that,” she says quietly. “If you mean it.”

Sean sighs, carding his fingers through his hair before letting them drop and settle on Par’s tail. “I guess those officers downstairs are waiting for me, huh?”

Hotch nods. “We’ll walk you down.”

Par slides down Sean’s body with a sinuous scrabbling of paws and runs to keep up with Hal’s long-legged stride as they walk together. “Hey, know any good lawyers, Hally?” she asks, chuckling as she runs.

Brothers never change.

 

 

Reid goes to open the door to Hotch’s room and has it yanked out of his hand, Hotch appearing with his eyes wild. Hal is seconds behind. Reid stumbles back, Jack yelping as he almost trips over him.

“Oh, thank god,” Hotch breathes, reaching out and pulling Jack into the room. “Reid, the Replicator’s here. In New York—he took photos of you and Jack and sent them to Garcia.”

Reid goes cold. “What? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was about to. I only just found out.” Hotch holds up his cell, Reid’s name bright on the screen. “Look, stay here with Jack. I’m going to get the others; we’ll meet back here.”

“Aaron,” Reid hisses, fear thundering through him. “He’s after us, all of us. If I’m here with Jack… I’m a target.”

“We’re all targets, Reid. And you’re the only one I trust to keep Jack safe.” He hesitates, glances down at Hal. “If only…”

Shaking his head, Reid glares at him. “Don’t even think about it. Remember what happened to JJ when she sent Kailo away? And you and Hal have never even tried separating.”

Hotch lets a long breath of air out, as though unconsciously relieved of a burden. “Alright. Okay. I’m going. Lock the door, check the windows. Stay in one room with him. Keep your phone on you.” He nods again, turns on his heel and strides to the door. Reid watches him go with his heart in his mouth. From the other room, he can hear Aureilo reciting a story to Jack, the child blissfully unaware of the encroaching danger.

“Wait, wait!” Reid hisses, lunging after Hotch and grabbing his shirt, pulling him back. Hotch slides to a hurried stop, turning. His mouth opens to ask a question, but Reid covers it with his own before any words can escape. The kiss is hurried, desperate and nowhere near what either of them want to be their last. “Be careful,” Reid begs him, knowing that he’s begging, not caring. He’s lost too much. He can’t take anymore. If Hotch walks out this room and never returns, Reid knows it’s the end of him.

Hotch steps back, his eyes unnaturally shiny with some sort of emotion Reid can’t place. He reaches up, cups his hand around Reid’s face. “Keep him safe,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Reid locks the door, and paces around to each of the windows, drawing the curtains tightly. “Jack, come with me,” he calls, catching the giggling boy as he darts out of the bedroom. “We’re going to play a game, okay?”

Jack nods, dark eyes serious. Reid herds him into the bathroom and sits him in the bathtub. Arelys and Aureilo hop in with him and all three eye Reid with trepidation, picking up on his shattering nerves. There’s a flicker and, suddenly, Arelys isn’t an otter anymore, but a gangly half-grown Hal, big enough to stand taller than her human, head low and eyes dangerous.

Reid stands by the door, gun out and ready, eyes skimming along the darkened passageway. “Hide from the fox, Jack,” he says softly, seeing Jack sink low in the bath so just the top of his head is showing. “Hide from the fox.”

Deep breath. Calm. Reid’s hands stop shaking. His nerves still. He’s ready. He flicks off the light, leaving them in darkness.

And he waits.

 

 

_“Remember the last time you got a call like this? Remember? George Foyet, right? You were too late.”_

Damnit. Not Strauss, not now. Not when Dave has finally found his chance at happiness. _You bastard._ Hotch scans the street desperately, the Replicator’s taunts ringing in his ears, mocking him. The man knows them. He’s in their goddamn fucking heads. Which means he has to assume he knows their next moves. _He’ll know I left Reid with Jack… god, Reid, I’ve left you alone, please god don’t go after Reid, not them…_

He pushes the thoughts away roughly, knowing he has to focus on finding Strauss. Blake and JJ are on their way to Reid. He’ll be fine.

_“She looks a bit pale.”_

_Fuck you,_ Hotch snarls in his head, gun slippery in his hands. People on the street are glancing nervously at him, the gun held out. His credentials are in his other hand as he waves people away. Gets them out of the way in case of crossfire. Even at this hour, the streets are busy. Most people don’t even glance twice at him.

_“She’s not doing so well.”_

They’re going to be too late. Always too late. Too late for Haley, too late for Maeve, too late for Aureilo. Too late for Strauss. He knows that tone in Dave’s voice, he’d heard it in his own the day Foyet murdered Haley. That desperate, clinging hope that _maybe_ , just maybe, there’d be a miracle.

Hal sees him first, the clouded leopard staggering along the street in lopsided circles, mewling. She bounds up, trying to herd him off the road as cars honk their horns furiously. He stumbles, falls. She drags him by the scruff of his neck, his beautiful fur matted with filth.

Strauss is on a bench nearby. Alone.

Too late.

Dave’s voice is still in his ear. Hotch cuts him off. “Dave, I've got her! She’s on a bench, she’s a block east of the hotel. Call EMTs.” He hangs up on his friend, sprints to the woman he’d worked under for ten years. She’s not moving. “Erin, Erin!” he gasps, turning her over and examining her. Her eyes are bloodshot, unfocused. “It’s okay, help is here.”

“I tried to find you,” she slurs, head rolling back on a loose neck. “He made me drink, Dave. He put a gun to my head.”

There’s a miserable moan from behind them and the leopard wriggles weakly out of Hal’s mouth and drags himself towards his human, clawing at the ground like a kitten. Hotch almost vomits at the sight of the proud creature reduced to this. “We wish he’d killed us,” the leopard hisses, falling onto his side and twitching horribly. His next words aren’t words at all, but a mess of garbled noises. Hotch looks away. He knows they’re too late. Dæmons feel it first, poison and sickness. They try to draw it away from their human, even though their humans can’t survive without them.

Life’s cruellest irony.

“The ambulance is on its way,” he soothes, pulling her into his lap and brushing a lock of sweaty hair off her forehead. Trying to make her comfortable. They won’t make it in time. “Just breathe.”

“Aaron,” Hal murmurs, and he knows her dæmon is limp, fading. Blood begins to trickle across her face.

“I love my family, I love my family,” she chants softly. “Dave, Dave, please tell them. Please keep them safe. I love my children.”

“They know that, I promise you.”

They’re gathering a crowd, people realizing something is wrong. There’s a ripple of horrified cries and he knows Laimainion is gone. Gold glints in the corner of his view, blown across the street by an uncaring wind, scattering him to the breeze. People shove to get out of the way, to avoid being covered in it. Hal is silent.

_From Dust we come, and to Dust we irrevocably return. Hal, Aureilo, Arelys… all Dust in the wind._

Her eyes clear. “Aaron,” she gasps. “Aaron, it’s you, I can’t see you.”

“I’m here.”

“Lai’s gone. Don’t let me die alone.”

“I’m right here. I’m with you.”

When she goes, the crowd falls silent. Hotch thinks after that maybe it’s not that the crowd had quietened; he just couldn’t hear them over the sound of sirens and the shrieking calls of a hunting owl.


	30. It had never really ended.

He doesn’t call the others to tell them. He watches quietly as Rossi accompanies Strauss’s body to the hospital, eyes dim with shock and grief, turning back to the hotel with a heavy heart. The room is silent when he opens the door and finds his team in a loose ring around the couch, minus Reid.

“Strauss?” JJ asks, but her face is drawn. They all know. There’s a slow whine of misery from Naemaria as she hangs her head. Tod edges over and cautiously presses his muzzle against the boxer’s chest, comforting her.

“He poisoned her before we even knew he was here,” Hotch says. “We were too late.”

Morgan snarls and whirls as though to hit the wall, stopping himself and slumping forward onto it instead. “That fuck took her out from under our noses! He just walked in here, and took her! And not one of us could stop him!”

No one else says anything, but Hotch feels the atmosphere of the room shift from shock to a raw, burning anger. The Replicator took one of their own. There’s a low, grating growl, and Tod’s muzzle curls upwards. Hal follows, her deeper rumbling drowning out the fox’s softer noise.

“We can stop him,” says a low voice, and they turn to see Reid in the doorway with a cold expression. “We find him. We have the knowledge, the skill. If he’s tracking us, we can track him. He’s made a mistake somewhere, I guarantee it.”

Hotch meets his eyes and sees the hurt and fury there, barely hidden by the mask he’s wearing.

“Yeah well, he better enjoy his last week as a free man,” Morgan vows. “Because when we find him, I’m going to make sure he spends the rest of his life paying for this.”

 

 

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks Reid after, finding him standing in Jack’s doorway watching the boy sleep.

Reid shakes his head. He feels Hotch come up behind him and leans back into his chest, feeling the other man wrap an arm around his stomach and tighten it, resting his chin in his hair. “What’s this guy after, Aaron? Us? Strauss? Has he got what he wants?”

When Hotch shrugs Reid feels it through his back. “I don’t know. God… Dave. Dave was destroyed tonight. He’s not answering his phone…”

Reid’s mind begins clicking. “Was he after Rossi? Maybe someone from a past case?”

“Erin is the face of the BAU within the agency. He may have just been taking out the head first.”

Reid feels Hotch tugging him away from the door, but he resists, unwilling to walk away yet. Not until he’s sure Jack’s safe, and he’s not, not yet. “The first case he replicated… the Silencer. He didn’t do the Seattle case. What was special about the Silencer case…?”

“Reid…” Hotch tugs on his sleeve more insistently. Reid shakes his arm loose.

“Blake. We worked it with Blake. That’s what changed.”

Hotch studies him intently. “You think this has to do with Blake?”

“I think the unsub thinks it has something to do with Blake.”

There’s a moment of silent contemplation where Reid turns back to peer into Jack’s room again, feels Hotch inhale suddenly as though working something out. “Spencer… he’s safe. Protection detail’s over.”

Reid shudders as though a cold wind has just blown down his spine, and bites at his lip. There’s a sniffle from in the room as Arelys kicks in her sleep. A flicker of movement and the light from the hall catches on Aureilo’s eyes as he lifts his head to look at them, sprawled out next to Jack’s hand. “How do we know that?” he whispers, swallowing hard. “I thought… I didn’t keep Maeve safe. How do we know I can keep Jack safe?”

Silence again and Reid waits for it, for Hotch to tell him that he’s right and that he was wrong to leave Reid alone with his son. “We keep him safe together,” Hotch says finally. “Come on, the jet leaves in five hours. We need sleep if we want to catch this bastard.”

Reid hesitates, before letting himself be drawn away from the room.

Aureilo stays with Jack.

Hal does too.

 

 

“Aaron? Are you okay?” Hal leans her head against his hip, frowning up at him. “This is a good thing. We’re getting closer to finding him.”

Hotch kneads his knuckles against his forehead, cold anger running through him and turning the world sharp and slow. “He’s one of us, Hal. He’s an agent, or someone within the Bureau. One of our own killed Strauss.” The betrayal is magnificent. It’s knocked them all off kilter.

Morgan pokes his head in, pausing when he sees the look on Hotch’s face. “Hey man, I know this is rough, but this narrows it down. Rossi’s back.”

Hal turns her head swiftly. “How is he?” Hotch asks, pushing back his fury. Blake and Reid are working on the list, Kevin and Garcia on the photos hacked into Garcia’s computers. They’re closing in. He can practically taste it.

“Not good. It’s hitting him pretty hard.”

“Well, they were together a year,” Hotch says quietly, shuddering as the thoughts attack him again. _One of us. He’s an agent, he could have chosen to take out any one of us that night. Reid… it could have been Reid._ _It could have been me._ He absently reaches down and trails his hand across the paperwork he’d been working on in his free time, his one assurance against his own death. Closes the folder on it and pushes it aside. Almost complete. “I’ll come with you to see him,” he says, standing. His phone rings.

Shit. He has to take this.

Morgan shrugs. “No hurry, I’ll go check on him. No doubt he’s as eager as the rest of us to get this sicko.” He vanishes, the sound of Naemaria’s paws thudding on the carpet trailing after him.

Hotch nods to himself, picking up the phone. “This is Agent Hotchner.”

 

 

Aureilo is getting edgy, pacing the room with his ear twitching.

“You’re being really distracting,” Tod grumbles from where he’s sitting bent over with his muzzle inches from a list of names. “Instead of wearing a hole in the carpet, you could help, genius.”

Blake’s mouth twitches slightly, and she glances up at Reid. “Maybe you two should take a break?”

Reid barely hears her. “I’m fine,” he says, finger flying over the page to mark his place. “Aureilo, how about you go see how Hotch is going?” The hare huffs and bounds from the room, his gait slightly uneven from his limp. A calm settles over them in his absence, broken only by the flicker of pages turning rapidly.

Shouts shatter the quiet and they look up at each other, confused.

Barking. A screech.

“Eris?” Reid murmurs to himself, straightening and flinching as his back complains about the position he’s been in for hours now. There’s a shriek, and someone cries out. He knows that shriek. The crashing sensation of confusion and fear swelling over him seconds later only confirms what he already knows.

“Aureilo!” Reid shouts, lurching to his feet and bolting out the room, the papers he was holding flying out of his hands. He moves faster than he could have imagined, hurtling past stunned looking agents and skidding to a stop. Naemaria is backed up against a wall, mouth gaping with shock, a long bloody gash across her muzzle. Eris is hunched over, hissing furiously and advancing on the dæmon with wobbly, uneven hops.

Between them, Aureilo stamps his hind leg, arches over and growls a warning. “Back off, Eris!” the hare warns. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Reid can’t focus on that because he’s looked up into the office and there’s a gun on Morgan’s heart.

Rossi’s holding the gun.

Reid freezes and he knows he needs to do something but he doesn’t know what.

There’s a blur of fur and teeth and Hal appears, pinning the furious owl easily. Hotch slips into the office like a ghost, calm and collected, steady. Reid can’t hear what he’s saying, but Rossi’s eyes flicker to him and uncertainty crosses his face. The gun wavers. Lowers.

Later, there’s more anger, but at that moment all Reid feels is relief. Naemaria steps up to his side as the paramedics take Rossi away, looking grey and small under the oxygen mask, and so unlike himself Reid isn’t entirely sure it really is him. “He was drugged,” the boxer says, horror coating her voice. “We didn’t realize. Someone planted something in his office to make him think we killed Strauss… he wasn’t thinking straight.”

Reid nods slowly, seeing Hotch comforting Morgan out the corner of his eye “We need to stop this guy,” he says to the dæmon. “Before it’s too late.”

Naemaria’s ears fall flat. “It’s already too late,” she says sadly, watching the doors swing shut behind the men taking Rossi away.

 

 

“It’s me,” Blake says suddenly, sitting upright. “I’m his endgame, I’m the only one he hasn’t targeted yet. He chose drugs as a final taunt, replicating a case me and Strauss worked on years ago. During the Amerithrax case, poison delivered by envelopes.”

Tod speaks up, finding his voice in front of the team finally. Hotch feels a dim pride in that, despite the severity of the situation. He had worried Blake would never truly fit in following the loss of Prentiss. “Someone suffered a professional setback just like us, but was patient and psychotic enough to get revenge,” he muses, narrowing his eyes. “If Garcia can check the DOJ…”

“Already on it, sugar-fox,” Garcia calls. “Kevin’s pulling photos aaaand we have… two agents in New York in 2001. Oh no, one of them died… We have one agent, a John Curtis. Sound familiar?”

Blake nods. “His passion was biochemistry, but he was brilliant in multiple fields. He inherited a family compound in rural Virginia.”

This is it. “We’re moving in ASAP,” he warns his team, standing. “Get ready. This ends now.”

 

 

“Helicopters?” Hal groans as Reid follows Hotch to the landing pad, trepidation prickling on the back of his neck. “Oh no, I hate helicopters…” She hunches her shoulders, made difficult by the heavy vest covering the upper half of her body.

The pilot runs out to them before they can respond. “Are your dæmons outfitted?” he calls over the sound of the rotors. Reid glances down at Aureilo, his own vest oddly bulky on the slim body. The straps on the back and sides hang loosely, ready to snap onto the restraints in the chopper. Naemaria and Tod wear the same, both looking ill at ease. The pilot peers at Hal. “You’ll need to have the wolf separate from the dog, they’re too big to go in the same cabin.”

“I’ll go with Morgan,” JJ calls, moving off. Her shoulder looks bare without Kailo on it, safely enclosed in a capsule at her waist. Reid shudders at the thought, firmly glad that Aureilo isn’t an insect.

“Now would be a bad time to discover my fear of heights,” Aureilo groans as Reid straps him in under the guidance of the pilot. Both their eyes keep skittering to the cabin door, imagining a sudden turn, imagining one of the dæmons tumbling out, imagining… Reid baulks, feverishly checking the straps again, hands slippery with sweat. Aureilo’s claws skitter and scrape on the floor, failing to find purchase, and he swallows back bile.

“I’m not scared of heights, so you’re not,” he says distractedly, sitting up and leaning over to run his hand over Hal’s straps. She turns her head and licks his hand reassuringly, earning him a raised eyebrow from Blake and Tod, both perfectly poised.

“Calm down,” Hotch reassures them.

“We are calm,” Reid hisses, looking out the window as the machine shudders and the rotors pick up speed, and immediately regretting it as his stomach lurches and drops into his crotch.

“The only time a hare flies is when it’s in the talons of an eagle,” Aureilo notes, turning awkwardly against the straps and pressing his head against Reid’s leg, shaking. “So, I think a little bit of disquiet is understandable.”

“Don’t worry,” Hotch says. “What is it they say; air travel is actually safer than driving?”

Reid swallows. “Actually, most aircraft average 7.28 crashes per one-hundred thousand hours of flight. Helicopters alone average 9.84 in the same time frame, which means they crash thirty-five percent more often per hour compared to almost any other aircraft, including blimps.”

Hotch looks like he regrets asking.

“I hate helicopters,” Hal groans, covering her face with her paws. Blake says nothing, but her knuckles turn white around the straps holding her in.

 

 

As soon as Hotch hears the word mayday, an odd, forced kind of calm settles over him. Everything moves very slowly after that. The helicopter shakes under them and lurches. He turns his head to check on Blake first, finding her with one hand on Tod’s back and the other gripping the straps holding her in, her eyes closed. Someone touches his hand, grips it tightly with a sweaty palm. He squeezes, recognising Reid.

He looks at Reid right as the machine tilts wildly, throwing them all forward in their harnesses. Hal manages to brace herself between his legs, sliding only inches. Hotch’s neck snaps forward and he slumps in an effort to stop it cracking against the seat, seeing Tod and Aureilo lifted off their paws by the force of the spin. For one weird, hazy moment he watches Aureilo kick in the air as gravity catches up to their sudden change of momentum, before the harnesses pull them both down with matching screams of shock. Reid cries out, his hand slipping out of Hotch’s and reaching helplessly for his terrified dæmon. With a painful grating sound, the helicopter straightens what feels like mere seconds before it lands heavily.

His ears ring with the sound of metal against metal and the heavy panting of his two agents. The pilot turns to face them, shouts inaudibly, and Hotch opens his mouth to answer when something clatters to the ground in front of them.

He looks down right as it begins hissing.

The last thing he recalls is Aureilo lunging past his knees, his harness dragging him back, and the limp form of Hal at his feet.

 

 

Reid opens bleary eyes to two voices shouting at him. He blinks slowly, trying to focus on the hazy face leaning over him.

“I got Reid awake, he’s waking up,” a familiar voice calls, distant one moment, close the next. He blinks again and the image sharpens. Morgan.

“Get up, idiot!” snarls another voice and he looks down to find Aureilo covered in burrs and frayed straps hanging off the black vest. “He took Blake while you were napping!” Consciousness returns with a snap and Reid bolts upright, feels Hotch stirring next to him. The seat on the end is empty, the straps that had held Tod in the same state as Aureilo’s.

Morgan holds up a silver canister, face grim. “He hard-landed you guys, knocked you out with whatever was in this, and took Blake.”

Aureilo kicks at the floor angrily. “He left Tod! He was going to leave Tod and take her!”

Hotch makes an angry noise in his throat, fumbling with the straps. Reid follows suit as soon as his fingers regain feeling. “Tod wouldn’t have been able to get out in time, he would have severed them.”

Reid feels a rush of pride in his dæmon when he gets loose and takes a proper look at the straps that had been holding the fox dæmon. Two of them are frayed by sharp fangs, ill-suited to the job. The other four are gnawed neatly by teeth much better designed for it. “Good work, Aur,” he says to the dæmon, following the other agents out of the machine with his feet unsteady under him and head still throbbing with the after-effects of the drug. Aureilo hops down after him into a wide field, and Reid can see clearly a path someone had taken through the grasses.

“Tod and I went after him, but I came back to get you guys,” Aureilo says, itching a burr out from near his ear. “He hasn’t gone far, I could still hear Tod barking when you guys started waking up. I can lead you.”

Hotch turns to him and studies his face. “Are you alright?” he asks. “We’re going after Blake, we need you thinking straight.”

“I’m fine,” Reid reassures him, checking his weapon and thinking of the quick-wittedness of his hare. “Let’s go.”

 

 

The door grates shut, sealing them in. Hotch doesn’t panic immediately, but he does panic.

“Well, shit,” Morgan says, looking about at the sheer walls and floor. “Anyone got any bright ideas?”

Blake is turning steadily whiter as she realizes the full implications of the door closing. “We can’t get that open, can we?”

Reid steps back as Hotch attacks the door, kicking at it and trying desperately to get a hold, pull it open. They can’t die down here, trapped like animals. _Jack._ _Who will look after Jack?_ The papers on his desk are hardly a relief to him now, not like this. He stops and turns to face Reid, feeling the seconds tick by infinitely faster now they all know that they could be their last. Endlessly more precious for the knowledge.

“Henry,” breathes JJ, reaching down with a trembling hand and releasing Kailo with a click, drawing the butterfly onto her fingers and holding him close.

“Oh no, oh no way in hell am I dying down here,” Morgan snarls, spinning in a wild circle, Naemaria at his feet. “You hear that, you bastard! You’re not killing any of us down here.”

Reid’s face is blank and his mouth is moving minutely, mind clearly buzzing at a million miles an hour. Hotch watches him carefully. Hal is silent at his side, watching Reid as well. Waiting for him to make a breakthrough. It doesn’t come.

One minute down.

Reid comes back to life, pales, looks at Hotch. “Aaron,” he says softly, biting at his lip.

Hotch lowers the gun and sends a silent prayer to anyone who’s listening that Jack understands. “I love you, Spencer.” Reid’s eyes widen as Hotch says it, and he feels every set of eyes suddenly swing to face them. “I think I always have.”

“This is _absolutely_ not the time,” Morgan groans. “Don’t you _dare_ start saying goodbye to anyone, Hotchner, because this _is not the end of us._ ”

Reid opens his mouth and closes it again quickly when Morgan turns his glare onto him. “There’s no way out,” he squeaks eventually, and looks down at the empty space around his feet, rueful. Aureilo isn’t there. Hotch envies him that, the illusion of his dæmon’s safety. When he burns here, Hal burns with him.

“Stop giving up!” Morgan roars, and Hotch sees the exact moment everyone does exactly that, looking away from Morgan and resigning themselves.

He reaches forward and grabs Reid. “I’m going out on my terms,” he states, seeing Morgan’s eyes narrow, and drags Reid forward, pulling their mouths together roughly. Reid squeaks slightly, struggles, blushes, and gives in. Closes his eyes and relaxes into the kiss. Unless there’s a miracle, it’s their last.

There’s a miracle. A grinding noise, and a polite cough, and they separate to find Rossi watching them with a smirk from the open doorway, Aureilo at his feet. “If you guys are quite done?” he says snidely, stepping back and gesturing.

Hotch almost throws Reid at the door. “Run!” he roars at his team, the last to leave the room.

Making sure they’re safe.

 

 

Rossi stands in front of them with Eris on his shoulder.

“Last year, right here, we had a very different celebration, of life, of love and good people. This year, it's the other side of that. Because, well… that’s what families do. It’s been a hard year. But tonight, we celebrate a life well lived and well loved. To a good woman, an even better mother… to our friend… who I will miss very much.” They all stand, dæmons and humans alike, together to mourn one of their own. “To Erin.”

When someone slips their hand into Reid’s as he sits back down, he squeezes tightly. Traces a finger around Aaron’s warm palm.

“To one hell of a woman,” Aaron murmurs. “She’ll be sorely missed.”

“And always remembered,” Aureilo adds.

 

 

Reid excuses himself early, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Hotch watches him leave warily, wondering if he’s safe to drive or if he should stop him, offer to drive him. Take him home instead and make sure he rests.

Reid pauses by the door to speak to Blake. There’s a brush of air against Hotch’s shoulder as Rossi leans down, hums slightly. “You’re letting him leave again.”

“He’s going home, Dave,” Hotch replies calmly. “Not to the moon.”

Rossi slides onto the seat next to him and steeples his fingers, looking tired and old. “Aaron, we buried a woman today who I could have had so much more with. But we didn’t, because there was the work, and the team, and a million and one excuses. And now she’s gone and I’ll never know.”

“I don’t want us to always associate getting together with Erin’s death, and I only just… Beth…” Hotch falters, seeing Rossi roll his eyes.

“A million and one excuses,” he says again, “and no guarantee of a tomorrow for any of us. For Christ’s sake, if I die tomorrow, Aaron, at least let me die knowing I didn’t suffer watching you stick your tongue down the kid’s throat for nothing.”

Hotch stares at him for a long moment until the older profiler waves his hand impatiently, then he stumbles up and in what’s almost a run, heads after Reid.

“Where’s he going?” he hears Morgan ask.

Rossi snorts loudly and replies in a voice that carries easily after him. “The right way, for once.”

 

 

“Spencer!” The shout is breathless, and Reid’s stomach lurches when he turns away from his car door to find Aaron running towards him. He can’t handle any more unwelcome news…

“If someone is dead, can it wait till morning?” Aureilo says dryly from the passenger seat, leaning out the window. “I mean, they won’t get any deader by then, will they?”

Hotch opens his mouth and seems to choke on the words, faltering and falling quiet. Reid watches him blankly for a moment, before clueing in on what’s happening with a sweeping, heady sensation that leaves him giddy. “Okay,” he says quietly in a voice that’s a lot calmer than what he’s feeling.

Hotch looks confused. “Okay what?”

“Okay, we can try again.” Reid smiles, steps forward and runs his hand up the other man’s arm in a gentle caress. “Or do you think Rossi was just in your ear all night? The man is on a mission.” _Because he’s grieving what he didn’t get a chance to have,_ Reid thinks numbly, but he pushes it away before it becomes something he forever associates with this moment.

Hotch is silent for a second before chuckling, a deep rumbling laugh that’s rare and delightful to hear from the usually reserved man. “Damn profilers,” he says with a wide, real smile, and leans forward to kiss Reid.

He kisses like it’s a beginning, but Reid is pretty sure it’s just a continuation of something they’d both started years ago.

It had never really ended.


	31. Wake up.

Matteo Cruz walks in, and the first thought Aaron Hotchner has about him is that he’s a man of reluctant power. Everything about him, from his casual smile to the easy, familiar way his eyes find each of the team and greet them as individuals, calls to a man more at home with his people than over them. His second thought is that that probably makes him a better leader.

His third thought is that there’s secrets in the room.

Cruz’s dæmon walks in and, for the first time, Hal’s size doesn’t mark her immediately as the odd one out. The brindle-coated wolf stands to above his human’s waist, could almost look Hal in the eye, and she does with a calm, easy gaze that betrays kindness under the polished veneer her human cultivates.

The wolf’s eyes flicker to JJ. There’s a warmth to them, a recognition. JJ looks away.

“Interesting,” Reid states after, as he carefully stacks cards into a house shape. “The dynamics in this place.”

“What do you mean?” Hotch asks, spotting Rossi nudging the table leg slightly and bringing the cards crashing down. Reid looks frustrated.

“I was just thinking, you and Strauss were opposites in every sense, from your conduct to your dæmons,” Reid continues, patiently beginning again. Rossi goes to move his foot, finds it blocked by an innocent looking Aureilo holding his laces in his mouth threateningly. “Then they want you as Unit Chief, you turn it down, and in walks a man who carries himself just like you with a wolf dæmon to boot.”

Hotch stares at him. “I’m sure it was more complicated than that.”

Rossi carefully draws his expensive shoe away from the hare’s mouth, holding his hands up in surrender. “These things rarely are,” he says blandly, reaching and flicking the bottom card out with his hand instead.

 

 

Reid is, for once, finishing his work day as energized as when he’d started it. Aureilo skips at his side, just as cheerful. “Want me to come over tonight?” he asks, popping his head into Hotch’s office and beaming brightly at him. The warm glow of them being back together has yet to fade, even a month and a half after the event.

Hotch lifts his head and slowly at squints at Reid through what is obviously a painful headache. Reid’s own head twinges in sympathy. Hal is laying by the couch, twitching her tail sleepily in greeting as Aureilo nuzzles his head against her ruff.

“Not tonight,” Hotch says eventually, either taking his time to think it through or just having trouble catching up to the conversation. Reid knows the feeling. “I’m exhausted, I’m just going to go home and crash. Jessica will help with Jack when she drops him off.”

Reid feels a twinge of mild disappointment that vanishes quickly when he remembers the four new books he’d gotten that morning from a neighbour. “Alright!” he says with a smile, mind already elsewhere. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

If Hotch answers, he doesn’t hear.

 

 

The day is off to a _fantastic_ start. Hotch wakes up late, sleeping through his alarm. Jack is tired, grumpy, flushed. Probably coming down with the stomach flu the school had warned them about. The coffee machine is broken, making it even more fortunate that Reid had stayed home the night before. His tie has a tear in it. Hal is ornery, dull. She follows after him with her head drooping, eventually goes and curls up in the corner of the kitchen and sulks. He burns his toast, and Jack cries non-stop, waiting until Hotch almost has him in the car to go to school before vomiting all over himself and Arelys. Hotch sighs, takes him back inside, and rings work while they both shower. His head is pounding, hot flushes washing over him in waves. He presses his fingers against his eyes, trying to push back the headache that lingers still.

He can’t be sick. He doesn’t get to be sick. He leaves a message for Cruz letting him know he’s going to be late and goes looking for Hal, finding her still curled up on the cool tiles of the kitchen. She won’t get up. Hotch nudges her with his foot, and she whines at him, curls into a tighter ball. “Tired,” she slurs, tucking her nose under her tail. “Sick.”

He sighs, shakes his head at her, and instantly regrets it. The room blurs around him, ears roaring, and he stumbles. Hal looks up, staggers to her feet as she feels his distress.

Whines and falls onto her side with a thump, her legs useless.

Shit.

“Daddy?” calls a voice from far away as Hotch joins Hal on the floor, reeling. Reaches for her. His fingers trail through her fur, failing to grip. Like Dust. “Daddy, why are you sitting? We have to go to school.” His phone slips in his grip, suddenly slick with sweat; he tries to type in a familiar number. _No. I can’t… Jack…_

“Jack,” Hal moans, because Hotch’s thoughts are spiralling. “Jack we’re sick, call Spencer. Baby, take the phone, call Spencer…”

Hotch doesn’t hear anything else. Everything goes dark.

 

 

His phone rings as he’s driving to work. He glances down, notes Hotch’s number, and pulls over with a sigh. Probably more bad news. The man does like to deliver it just when he’s having a good day. A good week. A good month in fact. Even bad news can’t change the fact that Reid is happier than he can remember being for years. “Hotch? What’s up?”

“Spence?”

“Jack! Hey buddy,” Reid greets him, glancing over at the startled looking Aureilo. “Does your dad know you have his phone?”

A muffled sniff and Reid’s stomach drops to his shoes. “Daddy told me to.”

_Oh god, oh god._ “Where is your daddy? Can you put him on?”

“No.” Another sniff. The other end of the phone is frighteningly silent except for Jack’s damp breathing against the mouthpiece, hitching occasionally as he struggles against panic.

“What’s wrong, Jack? Can you tell me where your dad is?” He’s already calculating the distance between him and Hotch’s, instincts going into overdrive. _Someone could have broken in and hurt him, he could have fallen, unintentional accidents are the fifth leading cause of death oh god and Jack is alone…_

“He won’t wake up.”

Reid almost slams into another car as he spins the wheel and turns, the driver leaning on their horn and shouting at him. Aureilo scrabbles on the seat, nearly tumbling forward onto the floor. “Okay, Jack, I need you to do something for me. Is he breathing?”

Aureilo swears.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have a spoon? A shiny metal one, nice and clean? Can you hold it to his mouth?”

Jack makes another sniffling sound and Reid can hear clattering. Then silence. “It got foggy.”

_Thank god._ “That means he’s breathing, Jack. How long since you found him?”

“He was s’posed to take me to school. Then he got sick and fell over. Um… I don’t know. I ringed you. Is he okay?”

“He’s going to be fine.” Reid tries to make his voice as soothing as possible, even as he weaves through the traffic dangerously. He’s going to have a car accident if he’s not careful, or get pulled over…

“We need to call 911,” Aureilo says, claws gripping the seat. Reid tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear and reaches over, pulling the seat-belt across and clicking it around the hare while they wait anxiously at a set of lights.

“Jack, love. I need to hang up to—”

“No! Don’t go!” Jack starts bawling, and Reid’s heart tries to escape through his mouth. _I’m still eleven minutes away minimum… he might not have that long. Heart attack. Stroke. Seizure. He can’t have a seizure in front of Jack, it will terrify him._ “Spence, I want Dad, I want Dad!” Rough sobs echo down the line, and Reid bites his lip.

He has to leave him alone.

“Jack, I’m going to call straight back, okay? I just need to call someone so they can come and help your dad. I’ll be… three minutes. What time does the phone say? You remember times— remember I taught you how to read them?”

“Eight-oh-six.”

“When it says eight-one-one, I’ll call you back, alright? And then before it says eight-three-oh, I’ll be there. But the paramedics are going to be there first, and they’re going to help you. Does that sound good?”

“Kay.”

“Okay, we’ll talk soon. Stay by your dad. I love you.”

“Love you.”

The line goes dead and Reid chokes back his panic, dials from memory with his eyes locked on the road. _Please pick-up, please pick-up…_

“My lovely super-mind, I adore you, I do, but it’s way too early to hear your dulcet tones.”

“Garcia? I need you to get medics to Hotch’s house ASAP. Jack called me—Hotch is unconscious, Jack can’t wake him. He’s breathing, that’s all I know.”

“Oh my gosh. Okay calling now. Go go go, go to him!”

He hangs up on Garcia and dials Hotch’s phone. Considers. Checks the way. Runs a red light for the first time in his life.

He has a feeling it won’t be the last for today.

“Spence? I’m scared.”

 

 

Aaron is drifting. There’s an otter at his feet that speaks with Hal’s voice.

_“Why can’t you be more like your brother?”_ she asks accusingly.

He stumbles back into a void, almost trips over Reid and Aureilo. They watch him, Aureilo in Reid’s arms. He reaches for him, desperately.

_“I knew you’d understand_ ,” Reid murmurs, and Aureilo disappears in flurry of gold.

Aaron stares at the glittering Dust trickling through Reid’s slack fingers to pool on the ground at his feet, and he screams.

 

 

The average response time of medical services to an emergency is eight minutes. Reid makes it there in seven and four-fifths. He can hear sirens wailing in the distance. Ignores them. Leaves the car idling and runs up the steps, calls Jack’s name. Jack hurtles into his arms and he’s a hot, damp weight, covered in tears and snot and sweat, almost out of his mind with fear.

He runs into the kitchen and has to put Jack down, put him aside, because Aaron is laying there _(dead)_ still and pale, and one look at his waxy skin _(you knew he was sick, on some level you knew)_ almost has Reid joining him. He’s fevered under his hands. Reid turns him to his side, checks his airways. He’s breathing. Reid evens out his own breathing, willing Aaron’s to match.

Heartbeat.

Pulse.

_Hal is here, Hal is still here._

“Get up,” Aureilo says once, and Reid doesn’t know if he’s talking to him or Hotch.

Steady hands move him aside and there’s an oxygen mask on Aaron’s face and they’re carrying him away. Heavy gloves to stop their skin from touching Hal as they lift her onto her own gurney.

He bolts out, moving quickly alongside the bed as they move Aaron towards the ambulance, unwilling to watch them take him away. If he leaves, if those doors close behind him, there’s no guarantee it won’t be the last time. Just like Emily.

Emily came back.

Eventually.

Hotch’s eyes flicker, he struggles. Pulls the mask aside, catches Reid’s hand. Tries to talk. Fails. Tries again. “Jack…”

Reid glances back, seeing Jack standing on the stoop with his arms around Aureilo, rocking slightly on his heels. “He’s okay, he’s with me. I’ll keep him safe.”

He shakes his head anxiously, eyes glazed. “No, no, you have to take him, Spencer. You’re my assurance. Third drawer. Please.” Eyes roll. Keep rolling. Seizing. It’s okay. Jack’s not looking. He can’t see. Only Reid will know the fear of this.

“You can’t bring the kid in here, there’s not enough room,” the paramedic warns him, and closes the door in his face. Shutting them apart. There are people watching, neighbours, gawking.

Reid watches them go and thinks numbly that it’s not fair.

There’s supposed to be more time.

 

 

_“You’re leaving him alone,”_ Foyet points out as Jack fades away. _“Good parenting, Hotchner.”_

“I’m leaving him with Reid. That’s not alone.” He doesn’t even know why he’s defending himself as Foyet picks at his nails and sneers at him.

_“Oh, yes. The man with the hare dæmon. Tell me, did he scream when I cut off his dæmon’s ear? I bet he did. I bet it was delicious.”_

 

He tries to gather Jack’s things but his mind is scattered, half of it screaming through the streets with Aaron on his way to the hospital. He picks up keys, drops them. Picks them up again and sees a book half open on the couch, clearly put aside with intention of reading later. He stares at it. His brilliant mind, the pride of his mother and Gideon, and it’s shutting down when he needs it most. Jack follows him like a shadow. Aureilo talks, keeps talking, but Reid can’t hear him.

_Wait. Third drawer. Something important._ Aaron’s office, he pulls open the drawer and frowns. Just paperwork. He takes his time. He knows how the world works, logic and reason. And logic dictates that as long as Reid isn’t at the hospital, isn’t there to know, Aaron’s heart will keep on beating. Because there’s no reason to him slipping quietly away while Reid dresses his son and tries to find a book to keep him calm on the drive.

He picks up the top paper, flips it open and scans it. It takes him five tries and, even then, the words tangle in his vision, not making sense. They don’t make sense.

_… As guardian of the person and property of my minor child, Jack Hotchner, I appoint Dr. Spencer Reid. He shall have custody of my minor child, and shall serve without bond. If he predeceases me, I appoint as successor guardian the child’s biological aunt, Jessica Brooks…_

Someone takes the papers from his hands, lays them carefully on the table. Tilts his chin up to examine him. For a crazy moment, he thinks it’s Aaron.

“No need for that quite yet,” Rossi says firmly. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

“Jack needs his school bag,” Reid protests, not entirely sure why but absolutely sure that he does.

Rossi nods. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”

Reid doesn’t believe him.

 

 

“Family only.”

Reid stares at her blankly. “Is he alive?”

The nurse looks concerned, looking down at her sheet. “What did you say your name was again? You’re not on his medical proxy. I can’t give you details unless you are.”

“I’m his… I was…” Reid chokes slightly, sways. He’s alone. Jack’s with Rossi, somewhere. Or Jessica. He has a vague memory of one of them talking to him. “We broke up. But we’re not… now. Is he alive?”

The nurse frowns, tension overlaying the sympathy. “I’m sorry. Until a family member is here, I can’t release that information.”

“Can I see him?”

She touches his arm, trying to be reassuring. Aureilo chitters angrily at her parrot dæmon. “I’m sorry.”

 

 

Foyet is gone and Reid holds him close. Hotch clings to him. Tries to kiss him. Reid pulls away.

_“I’m done with last kisses,”_ he says with a sad smile. _“How many do we get before it’s actually our last?”_

Too many. Not enough.

Reid turns and walks away. “Where are you going?” Hotch calls after him.

_“I’m taking Jack away. To keep him safe.”_

But… Foyet is dead. Gone. Keep him safe from what?

“Take Aureilo!” he calls, stepping after him. “Reid, that’s an order!” Reid ignores him. He runs after him. Trips over something heavy and solid.

His hands are wet.

_“I bet it was delicious,”_ hisses the voice that haunts his nightmares.

 

 

“Reid? How is he?” Rossi. Not Jessica. Jessica took Jack. Jack was sick. Unrelated. Stomach flu. He remembers now. “Reid?”

“They won’t let me in,” he says quietly, seeing Rossi’s eyebrows draw together in a thundercloud of warning. “They won’t tell me. I’m not family.”

“Like fuck you’re not,” Rossi snarls, and Eris screeches. He walks away. Ten minutes later, Reid is being ushered into the room where the ghost of Aaron Hotchner lies cold in a bed, looking nothing like himself.

 

 

Reid, dead and bloody; Foyet hass brutalized him. Hotch stares at Reid’s hands, what’s left of those long, elegant hands, and screams again. Someone covers his eyes, pulls him away. When he shakes himself free and looks, the body is gone. Those empty, accusing hazel eyes are gone.

His own hands are still red.

_“Stop this,”_ Haley snaps angrily, shaking him and turning him to face her. _“You were never this stupid before. Stop being so scared of dying that you stop living.”_

Haley. She’s as beautiful as the day he lost her. “What’s happening?”

_“You’re stuck in your head, like always. Get out of it! You think too much, you profilers. You don’t follow your hearts because your heads are too loud.”_

He sits down heavily, panting. His chest hurts. Everything feels sluggish. Haley’s dæmon isn’t here. But she is. “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

She sits next to him and lays her head on his shoulder. _“Why? You’ve done everything I asked. Jack’s healthy, he’s happy. Oh god, and he’s so smart it hurts. We’re not that clever. That’s Spencer’s influence, I told you.”_

“I didn’t hold him. I promised you I would.”

_“No. You didn’t. But he’s still here, still waiting for you. So, do your part. Wake up.”_

 

“Wake up.” Reid repeats the words under his breath, feeling them come harder and harder each time. “Wake up… please.” He’s used to his prayers not being answered. Maybe a by-product of not believing there’s anyone listening on the other side. “You have to wake up,” he mumbles, dropping his head into his hands and taking a shuddering breath. “Because, I’ve already decided, I don’t want to live without you and you’ve gone and taken that choice away from me.”

_Jack. He’s left me Jack._

“You bastard. You knew exactly what you were doing when you wrote that will, didn’t you? You knew I can’t… won’t… leave Jack, even if I don’t have you. Bastard.”

 

 

Haley leaves, but he’s not alone. Another hand on his shoulder, pale and delicate.

_“Don’t leave him,”_ Maeve asks him, eyes wide and pleading. _“I can feel his heart breaking and I can’t stand it. Wake up.”_

Hal appears at his side as though summoned. “Wake up, idiot.”

 

 

Hal’s tail twitches once, twice. Reid holds his breath.

They wake up.

 

 

“What happened?” Hotch coughs, shifts. He can feel the pull of stitches in his side. His arm itches where the IV is in. Machine hum around him. Hal is quiet in her own bed, awake and listening, with Aureilo tucked so close they’re almost one being. Reid is watching them from his seat. Hotch finds it hard to focus on his face.

“Internal bleeding due to complications from Foyet.” Reid’s voice is husky, as though he’s been talking non-stop for hours. “You collapsed. Jack called me.”

Hotch smiles through the pain. “You saved my life.”

Reid gives him a strange look, leaning forward in the chair. His eyes are bloodshot, a frightening contrast from the purple bruising under them. He looks terrified. “Let’s call it even,” he says cryptically.

“Are you okay?”

A harsh bark of laughter. “You almost died and you’re asking if I’m okay? You… we almost lost you. Again.”

Hotch has no answer to that. “I’m fine now.”

“They wouldn’t let me in at first. Said I wasn’t family. Rossi did… something.”

Hotch’s hands grip the sheets. “I’m sorry. I’ll deal with that. They won’t stop you again.”

There’s something accusing in Reid’s hazel eyes, some anger that he hadn’t touched on yet. “You’ve… your will. You named me Jack’s guardian in the event… in case something happens to you.”

Oh. That. He tells the truth. “There’s no one else I’d trust with him but you.”

Reid softens, relents. Take his hand. Hotch can’t bring himself to look down at first, terrified that he’ll look and they’ll be the mass of red from his hallucinations. He looks. They’re as familiar to him as ever, and he almost gasps with relief.

“Move back in,” Hotch says suddenly, the idea hitting him and he strikes it before it can slip away. “I mean, if you…. Please. Please move back in.”

A slow nod. “Okay. Okay, yes.”

 

 

Christmas and they spend it together. They both know this is something neither of them is ever letting go of again.

 

 

One morning, ten a.m. comes and goes and JJ isn’t there.

“We’ll get her back,” Reid assures Aureilo, but the hare doesn’t look convinced. But they do. Of course they do.

That’s what family does.

 

 

Bullets whistle around them and Hotch ducks down, swearing. Hal is flat next to him, Emily on the other side of her. Both wear vests. Sergio is the faintest hint of black at Emily’s feet, his own vest slimmer and lighter, less protection. Not for the first time, he envies Reid the safety of leaving Aureilo outside raids. They’re too exposed.

“Been a long time since we took gunfire like this,” Emily says, frowning. “Well, since I did.”

“We’re profilers, not SWAT,” Hotch murmurs, peering around and feeling a bolt of icy fear at the sudden realization he can’t see any of his team. He can hear the steady sound of their guns, cover fire. They’re still alive. “We don’t normally do this.”

But for JJ, for one of their own, they do.

He sees a flicker of movement, a flash of the FBI acronym, and Reid’s head peers around from where he’s taking cover, eyes scanning the ground. Hotch counts as he watches him, waiting for him to draw back. “Pull back,” he hisses, seeing Reid pause. “You’re a target, pull back.” He twitches in place, feels Emily grab his arm. It’s familiar.

He’s missed her.

“Keep down, he knows what he’s… shit!”

The metal next to Reid’s head sparks as a bullet slams into it, missing him by inches. Reid ducks, his mouth moves, then fucking _stands._

“Reid!” Emily and Hotch both roar as the gunfire shifts towards him.

Reid aims. Fires three times in quick, calm succession. Cover fire. For what?

Something brown and quick darts across the empty space while the focus is on Reid, disappearing behind another air conditioning unit. Reid vanishes too, right as the spot he was standing becomes riddled with bullets.

“Fuck me drunk,” Emily groans, and Hotch can’t help but shoot a strange look at her, almost laughing. “Was that Aureilo? Great time for him to decide to join the party.” She leans around and fires. Hotch’s ears ring dully with the sound. “Hey, you guys are back together, right?”

She fires again and there’s a yelp from the man she hits, a flicker of gold in the direction of her bullet. They both flinch. “Is now really the time to be asking about my relationship?” he says dryly.

“Better late than never,” she says with a wink, and he moves to cover her while she runs towards the door. Towards JJ.

Still family, even now.

 

 

Hotch stands to cover Emily and the only reason Reid sees the danger is the opportune shift of the heavy cloud cover. Moonlight glints off a barrel behind him and Reid stands, shouting. Aureilo pelts from his side towards his partner, moving with all the speed of his species. “Aaron!”

He fires twice, empties his gun. He doesn’t know if it’s enough. Hotch is turning, too slowly, not reacting quick enough. Another shot.

Someone tackles Reid and he hits the ground, all the air forced from his lungs.

Out the corner of his eye, gold.

 

 

Reid is up again, shouts his name. There’s a shot and he falls. Hotch and Hal both cry out at once. A growl behind them, and Hotch turns to find one of the assailants standing there with his gun held loosely, face slack and unfocused. Blood pumps out steadily from wounds left by Reid’s bullets.

Right before he could put one of his own in the back of Hotch’s head.

His dæmon is a snake, and it hisses, mouth gaping. Lunges at Hal. Aureilo darts out of nowhere and hits it solidly, both tumbling over in a desperate tangle of kicking and biting. The man falls and the snake showers them both in gold. Aureilo stands and shakes it out of his fur.

“Saved your life again,” he says cheekily.

Reid appears at their side and grins, Morgan right behind him. There’s a bruise coming up on his chin. “Morgan tackled me,” he complains, but he sounds delighted by it. “There wasn’t even anyone left to shoot me, and he still tackled me.”

“Good, because if you get shot again, I’m going to kill you myself,” Hotch warns him. Reid smirks.

“JJ?” Morgan asks, and the mood stills, becomes serious once more.

“Let’s go get her,” Hal says quietly.

 

 

“You came,” JJ breathes, pulling Reid into a hug. “I knew you would.”

He hugs her back gingerly, aware of her injuries. Trying to get a feel for them just by the way she’s standing, moving. “Of course we did,” he says softly, treasuring her. “We always will.”


	32. The soul of a wolf.

Months pass, and things are good. Not just good. Hotch looks at his life, and, for the first time, he has no doubt about his future. His future is Jack and Spencer and the house they make a home. His work, his team. He dares to hope. The hare and the wolfdog, irrevocably entwined.

It’s comfortable. As familiar as if they’d just picked up a much-loved book that had been put aside for a little while, falling easily back into the story as though it had never paused at all.

He begins to think that there’s very little about Spencer Reid that’s left to surprise him.

 

 

Texas comes, and the case that changes everything. Corruption so deep that Hotch feels ill just thinking of it, as though the taste of it is left coating his team, almost impossible to wash away. They’re all so busy looking over their shoulders, that they don’t see the danger coming from the front.

In a rain of gunfire, two bullets find their mark.

The hare falters, and falls.

 

 

“We’ve got the suspect going into Loberto’s diner. I repeat, we’ve got the suspect going into Loberto’s diner.”

Hotch catches Rossi’s eye and plans his next move. He makes choices every day, choices that change lives. Rarely do those choices change his own but, when they do, they’re catastrophic.

This one is one of those, although he doesn’t realize it yet.

“All right, Blake, you and Reid go with the sheriff. Dave and I will coordinate the response here.”

Reid grins and leaves with a nod, Aureilo sticking close to his side. They’re all sticking close to each other, in this town full of eyes.

Not close enough.

 

 

Reid shrugs, narrows his eyes, and examines the diner. It looks quiet. Appearances can be deceiving; they all know that.

“Guys, I’ve got movement,” a cop mutters. “We should move in now, Sheriff.” His jackal dæmon frisks at his side, overeager to move in.

“Actually, we’re better off establishing the perimeter first,” Reid points out, moving up behind Blake. “Then we can open up a line of communication.”

The sheriff nods firmly. “Alright, agreed,” He turns, opens his mouth, staggers, falls.

Red blooms.

Reid registers the gunshot before he sees the blood, reacting on instinct and taking cover. The familiar call of, ‘shots fired!’ rings out. He keeps low, Aureilo flat beside him, observing. Planning. Adapting to the situation. Blake moves to check on the sheriff; he knows what’s going to happen before it happens, imagines it vividly. The high-pitched whistle and she’ll fall, showering them in gold as Tod vanishes forever.

Reid has always been firmly of the opinion that his life is best served serving others. This moment is no different. Aureilo breaks away, moving quickly, cutting Tod off with a bounding leap. “Get down!”

“Blake!” He reaches for her; his fingers brushing her vest.

Later, he’ll vividly recall the way her hair brushes against the back of his hand as she stumbles forward.

There’s the expected high-pitched whistle, and then pain.

 

 

Hotch has never believed in gut feelings. Everything can be organised with cool logic and hard reason. Nothing falls outside those categories.

Hal paces anxiously, and he can’t deny that something doesn’t feel right. He acknowledges the feeling. His subconscious mind working on clues that his conscious mind has missed. “We need to go,” Hal says suddenly, turning around with wild eyes. “Hotch, we need to go _now_.”

Rossi turns and regards them warily. Hotch pauses. He’s loath to leave his friend alone. The last time he’d felt like this, Reid had purposely overdosed on his kitchen floor.

“Go,” Rossi says.

They go. They can’t do anything else.

 

 

There’s gunfire and Hal is faster than him, surging towards the ring of flashing lights before Hotch even has his seatbelt off. He doesn’t hear the shot that does it, doesn’t see him fall. In the hours to come, he’ll imagine both in terrible detail over and over again until he vomits from the agony of it.

He sees Tod pause, and Aureilo leap in front of him. They’re not in danger, they’re too low for the gunman to see and aim at. He’s not scared. This is what they do. He trusts his team. He moves in calmly. He sees Aureilo spasm mid leap and tumble to the ground as though his paws have been swept out from under him. He almost chuckles. It’s almost amusing. He’s never known the hare to be clumsy before.

But Aureilo doesn’t get up.

Hotch is still calm, still focused. Agent mode. He takes cover, assesses the situation. He’s calm, until he hears something he’s never heard before. It’s a long, mournful sound and everyone pauses to listen. Even the gunfire stutters to a stop for a second, thrown by the unexpected noise.

Halaimon begins to howl, and in that single, clarifying moment, he knows everything has changed.

 

 

He finds Blake. Finds Reid. Follows the howl, even though every part of him that’s human tells him to go the other way because there’s something at the end of that howl that will _hurt_. Something fatal. A wolf with hungry fangs.

Or Death with hungry arms.

He goes anyway. It’s nothing like before. He doesn’t panic or lose his head like the anthrax case. He doesn’t pull Reid close and tell him how much he loves him like the Replicator.

“There’s too much blood,” Blake says with wide panicked eyes, pressing her hands against Reid’s throat, and she’s right. There’s so much blood. Coating him, coating her, sticking their clothes tackily against their skin and lacing the air with the scent of copper. Hotch has seen that much blood before, so many times. Enough times that he knows a body bag usually follows it, and a solemn visit from a state trooper.

For a wild moment, he thinks of what that call would be like for him. He’d answer the door, maybe with Jack in his arms, or maybe Jack is asleep. Maybe with dinner on the table, three places set although only two will eat the food prepared.

They’d ask him to sit down. They’d make sure he wasn’t alone. They wouldn’t use platitudes or clichés, because they only mask the pain. They give the person something to cling to, to use to deny it. And they’d say the words. _“I’m afraid your partner is dead.”_ _“He fell in the line of duty, a hero.”_

_“A hero.”_

Hotch would smile blandly at them and remind them that Reid didn’t need to die to be a hero.

And his dæmon would howl until their hearts all shattered.

More gunfire from inside the diner. Hal is standing next to Reid with her legs splayed, sides heaving. He can see her fur matting with sweat. He’s ice-calm, but she’s breaking.

Naemaria cries out.

“I have to cover Morgan,” he says finally after what feels like an hour. It’s only been seconds. “Medics are on their way, Blake. Stay with him.” And he leaves. To do his job. Because that’s what they do.

Grieving absolutely always comes later.

 

 

He doesn’t know it, but he makes the same choice Reid did not so long before. Himself for another. Pulls Morgan aside, feels the bullet rip through his arm. Morgan shoots the man who’d put it there. He’ll have a matching scar, something to lay against Reid’s and examine the differences. That’s one possibility. Or, he’ll have a scar that reminds him of one he used to know, its twin been and gone from this world like a lit match.

He watches the wound ooze sluggishly and thinks that, if this night wants more blood, he’ll gladly shed it all. Himself for another. No choice at all.

 

 

Hotch steps back from the ambulance as they load Reid in. The sight of Aureilo in strangers’ hands, even gloved hands, infuriates him. He wants to grab the dæmon from them and snarl at them not to touch him. Instead, he steps back and flicks his head at Blake. He doesn’t even think it through. It’s what he’d do for any of his team. He needs to go back to the station and tell Rossi what’s happened, keep him up to date. Finish this case.

Someone shoves him. He staggers, turns with his fists balled. Hal doesn’t even react, staring ahead with glazed eyes at a point just beyond the ring of light left by the squad cars.

Morgan speaks slowly and furiously. “Get. In. The. Fucking. Ambulance.”

He shakes his head. He can’t. Can’t Morgan see how much work he has to do?

Morgan steps towards him and, for a weird moment, Hotch thinks he’s going to punch him and braces. Wants it. _Do it._ “Get in that ambulance, Aaron, or I’ll throw you in there myself. This isn’t going to be the Anthrax case all over again. You’re not running from this.”

“I’m not—”

“He could die. He might die. Hell, Hotch, he’s probably going to die. And you’re going to be there, by his side because if, god forbid, he does and you’re not there, we’ll lose you both. Now, get in the ambulance.”

He gets in. Waits until they close the doors.

He ignores the paramedic’s hiss of shock and picks up Aureilo, tucking him into his jacket to keep warm and feeling their hearts beat against each other. Hal tucks her nose in as well. And they wait.

 

 

Reid _—Reid, because if he’s Reid than Hotch is losing an agent. He can lose an agent, that’s what happens in their line of work. He can’t lose Spencer—_ opens his eyes once and stares up at Hotch as though he’s looking at something too bright to focus on. His eyes struggle to see him, sliding away. When he speaks, Hotch is expecting something smart-assed. Something romantic. Something that he can look back on and either laugh over, or cry about, depending on how this ends.

“The sound is like a teakettle,” Reid chokes, blinking sluggishly. Something shrills. Hotch feels his mouth twitch as though a smile is fighting to get through, before it slithers away and leaves him expressionless. “Do you hear it?”

The only sound Hotch can hear is the machines narrating Reid’s tenuous hold on life. “What?” Reid closes his eyes. His mouth slackens slightly, the skin of his face loosening. It should look like he’s just fallen asleep, Hotch has seen that thousands of times before.

It doesn’t.

Hotch wonders blindly if this is the oldest Reid will ever be.

_“Pressure's dropping. Pulse is thready. Starting large-bore IV.”_

“Spencer?” Hotch calls softly, leaning forward to slip his hand around the man’s chin. The same as he’d done before. Reid will open his eyes and smile, maybe brush his lips against Hotch’s fingers.

“Agent, you have to get back.”

Hal whines. “Help him,” she pants, struggling to press closer to Hotch, as though almost trying to crawl into his lap. She’s looking at the paramedic, who ignores her. Focuses completely on Reid. “Please. Keep him here. Keep him with us. Spencer? Stay with us!”

Hotch tucks his jacket tighter around Aureilo. He tells himself it’s to keep him warm. But he knows it’s so he doesn’t lose him. Reid’s already lost Aureilo once. He won’t lose him again. Hotch will carry him home, Dust or otherwise.

He doesn’t think it in so many words, but he’s set in the knowledge that if they die here today, he’ll scatter them together. _From Dust we come…_

 

They stitch up his arm. He asks to see Reid. They frown at each, tut at him. “He’s still in surgery.”

They’re insincere, the lot of them. He waits a little longer. Asks again.

“Are you family?”

When this is over, he’s going to make sure they never hear those words again.

 

 

When he finds his team, Blake almost steps away from him. “Aaron, I’m so sorry, it should have been me.”

“Or me,” he replies numbly, because he knows how to do this. He knows how to reassure others. “Or any of us.”

She shakes her head and her hands are pink and raw from scrubbing. He wonders if there’s still traces of Reid’s blood under her nails. “No. He pushed me out of the way. If he doesn’t make it—”

“He’ll make it,” JJ says adamantly. “Of course, he’ll make it. He still has so much left to do, and you know Reid. He hates leaving things unfinished.”

“Like be a dad,” Hotch murmurs, and Hal shudders.

Morgan touches his shoulder. “He already is a dad, man. You know that. And that kid is the luckiest kid in the world.”

Hotch can’t agree. He pictures a child with unruly brown curls and shy hazel eyes magnified behind large glasses. He pictures a room filled with books and maps and Jack having someone to protect, just like he should have protected Sean. He pictures Reid’s eyes in a child’s face, proof that they can live forever. Something of him to hold onto.

He doesn’t realize he’s said any of this out loud until he looks up and his team is watching him with stunned expressions.

“There’s still time,” JJ says, but she’s crying now and Hotch caused that.

He realizes he’s voiced something he wasn’t even sure he wanted until now. He’s never been more certain of anything.

 

 

“How is he?” asks Garcia, because Hotch’s voice left the building with the rest of his team.

“Incredibly lucky,” the doctor says, but Hotch can see the same detachment on his face as the rest of the nurses. “Two millimetres to the right and the bullet would have torn through the carotid artery. It nicked some smaller vessels, but we’ve stopped the bleeding.”

“Can we see him?” Garcia again.

The doctor hesitates. “He’s still in ICU. Really, only family are allowed.”

Hotch pulls out his credentials, and feels his face settle into a frozen mask. “I think you’ll find that we’re the exception,” he says coolly.

Ten minutes later, they’re standing by Reid’s bedside; he’s still breathing, and Hotch knows that no one will ever stop him from seeing him again.

 

 

“Look who’s awake!” Garcia’s face swims into view, pinched and worried. Reid swallows, feeling it burn the whole way down his throat, his mouth cracked and dry. There’s a warm, comforting weight against his side. Aureilo. He tries to talk, but the words make him flinch in pain. Someone holds a cup of ice chips to his mouth, and they’re sweet relief. It’s pulled away before he can have his fill, and he turns his head slowly to glare at them, feeling the thick bandages pull, the skin under the bandages numb and strange.

Aaron. He doesn’t look pissed, which he should, because Reid is pretty sure he almost died _again_. He doesn’t look sad, which he shouldn’t, because Reid didn’t die after all. He just looks blank.

“Are… are you gonna s-shoot me?” Reid grates out through the pain, seeing Aaron frown in confusion. “’Cos I got s-shot again?” His head is woozy, his stomach tying itself in knots. There’s none of the thrill of narcotics running through his system. Aaron was here to stop them this time. He’s glad for small mercies.

“I don’t think so,” Aaron says with a strange look, and the twisting in Reid’s stomach intensifies. He knows that look. That’s Aaron’s ‘I’m about to do something huge’ face. Reid’s pretty sure he’s scared him for the last time.

The case. There’s still the case. A distraction. “You s-s-should go and… help the t-team.” His voice is broken, stammering. It makes him sound weak, right when he needs to be strong. He doesn’t regret the bullet. He regrets the age it’s added to Aaron’s face, already lined with too much worry.

Aaron hesitates and nods slowly, eyeing Garcia. “We’ll talk when I get back,” he says ominously. He doesn’t kiss him before he leaves. Doesn’t even touch him. Reid watches him go and fights the urge to slip back into a daze.

Garcia pushes a tray in front of him, lip wobbling slightly as she stares at the bandage on his neck. “That sounds bad,” she jokes lamely, before biting at her lip and changing the subject quickly. Tupelo hops down and jumps along his bedding, straightening the sheets fussily with his beak. “Ok. Juice, broth, or jello?”

 

 

“Hotch?” Morgan looks nervous as hell, standing in front of him with his phone held tightly in his hand. Naemaria cowers away from Hal. She’s terrified of the reaction of the big wolfdog when given the news he has. There’s an endless time between Morgan saying his name and him telling him the news in which Hotch imagines a lifetime alone. His words bring crashing relief, eventually, but he feels like he’s aged ten years in the meantime. “They just tried to kill Reid. He knows something they don’t want him telling us. Garcia… Garcia saved him, man. But they’re going to try again.”

This. This he can handle. Then, comes anger.

He smiles and Morgan steps back. It’s a wolf smile, he knows. He’s seen it on other men before. All teeth and no emotion. He’s seen it on the men he hunts.

If they want to hunt him, hunt his team, hunt his _partner_ , then they’re going to find out exactly why his soul is a wolf.

“Let them know this,” he says calmly, seeing Rossi and JJ enter the room out of the corner of his eye. “Let every person in this station know that if anything happens to the man I love, then I won’t hesitate to tear the world down around them.”

Hal is snarling. The room resonates with it. Nothing else makes a sound.

He turns and walks out to calm down and finds himself facing Dave on his way.

There’s fear on his face. Right now, in this moment, he’s afraid of him.

Good.

 

 

Reid closes his eyes, feeling pain and exhaustion fighting a winning battle against him. The attempt on his life is still fresh on his mind, but somehow feels less urgent as the lack of narcotics begins to make itself felt. Aureilo is still next to him, studying the room intently with a focus Reid doesn’t feel capable of replicating. Garcia is in the chair, Tupelo on her shoulder, quietly pretending she’s not watching his every move.

There’s a scuff of a heel on the tiled floor. Reid recognises it distantly as the type of shoes favoured by the nurses, dismisses it as unimportant.

“We already had our meds,” Aureilo comments sleepily, his tail brushing Reid’s arm as he rolls over.

There’s a hum of an unfamiliar voice. Aureilo stiffens and Reid feels suspicion trickle through him, pulling him out of his doze. He opens his eyes groggily, glances at the nurse. “We had those too,” Aureilo snaps, sitting upright and leaning over the edge to glare at the medication. What are you giving us?”

He hears Garcia standing in a flurry of material, the magazine she’s reading falling to the floor, but his focus is entirely taken up by the bag being hooked up to his IV. “Carbenicillin?” he asks, struggling to sit up. “No, no, wait. That’s not right. I have a severe reaction to beta lactams. I can’t have that.”

The nurse looks at him, and doesn’t stop. “Your chart doesn’t say that.” He keeps going.

If he keeps going, Reid dies. Aureilo dies. Reid sees that he’s armed. Garcia could die too.

Everything happens very quickly after that.

Aureilo grabs at the IV and bites down on it, splitting it neatly in two and spraying them both with the contents. The nurse snarls, pulling out a gun. His dæmon lunges with a bark and tries to knock Aureilo away from the line.

Furious cawing and the nurse screams as Tupelo dives at him, sharp beak stabbing viciously at his unprotected eyes. Aureilo propels himself at the Dalmatian dæmon and the two go down in a furious tumble of hissing and barking. The gun goes off, impacting into a wall. Reid hopes the wall is thick enough that it stopped it.

Another gun goes off and the nurse drops. Reid’s ears ring furiously. When he looks at his friend, she’s holding his weapon and is rapidly turning a fierce shade of green. Aureilo stands, shaking gold from his fur. Sniffing cautiously at the nurse’s body, he limps back a few steps to clear the way for security personnel swarming in.

Tupelo lands awkwardly on the bed, his feathers buckled. When he speaks, it’s loud and shocked. “Ok. I didn't know how loud that would be, ow.”

Garcia drops the gun with a shriek, begins chattering. He recognises the sound of a full melt-down approaching, doesn’t really blame her. “I can’t hear, ‘cause my heart feels like it’s gonna come out. Can that happen? Physically, can your heart burst out of your chest? And what is this ringing? Am I yelling? Because it feels like I might be yelling.”

“You saved my life,” Reid says, and she turns to look at him with a strange, half-proud, half-horrified expression on her face. “Can you hear that?”

“Yes,” she responds, beginning to shake. Shock. She just killed someone. She looks down at her shoes, and pales at the sight of the gold coating them. She slumps onto the floor, drawing her knees up, trying to control her breathing.

“You saved our lives,” Aureilo says, walking up to her with his rolling gait. “Thank you.” When she opens her mouth to nod, he takes the chance to jump up into her lap, curling against her. “Thank you.”

She bursts into tears and hugs him close.

“I won’t tell Hotch about this if you don’t,” Tupelo offers Reid, rustling his wings.

 

 

The man responsible for all this pain, everything they’d gone through, turns a gun on him and Hotch shoots him without a second thought. He knows the names of every man he’s killed in the line of duty. He regrets almost all of them. Every life lost, no matter whose, is a life they failed to save. He won’t ever regret this one, because the memory of this man is tainted by Reid’s blood.

He walks away from the junkyard without a backward glance. Case over. They’re going home. But first…

It’s time.

 

 

Aaron Hotchner had once sat on the sidelines at his cousin’s birthday party because he wasn’t very good at knowing what he wanted. He’d never really outgrown that.

Then, Spencer Reid had walked into his life. Suddenly, Hotch had known exactly what he wanted, with no idea of how to get it.

It only took him eight years, but he finally worked it out.

 

 

Spencer Reid unsettled people.

He’d considered the reasons behind it, but had finally settled on that it was just _him_ in his entirely. He figured that would never really change. He’d long ago resigned himself to that fact. Besides, he had Aureilo, what more could he want?

Then, he met Aaron Hotchner and the man wasn’t unsettled by him at all. In fact, everything that made Reid _Reid_ seemed to actually have the opposite effect; drawing Aaron in inexorably as though they’d become trapped in each other’s orbits. He began to consider that maybe there was nothing wrong with him after all. Maybe, just maybe, there was something worth loving about him after all.

It only took eight years, but, eventually, he learned to believe that.

 

 

Hotch has everything he’s going to say planned out when he walks into the crowded hospital room and pushes the door shut behind him. The door slams, and his team immediately silence and turn to look at him nervously. Reid is in the centre of their group, in a wheelchair and with the white of his bandages still peeking out from under his collar. He probably isn’t clear to fly yet. Hotch doesn’t care. They’re not leaving him here. The team draw closer to their friend, eyes narrowing. Hotch suddenly finds himself facing a bristling wall of dæmons and colleagues, all suspicious of his intentions.

It suddenly occurs to him that Reid almost died three times in the one day.

He promptly forgets everything he was going to say.

“You,” he begins, and feels Hal straighten next to him, “are without a doubt the singularly worst human being in existence.” Mouths drop open. That wasn’t actually what he’d planned on saying, not at all. He charges on ahead anyway, ignoring Reid’s confused look and Rossi’s pained groan. “We do one thing well as humans, one fucking thing, and that is _not die_. And yet, you seem to happily throw yourself into danger at every chance you get, never pausing for a single moment to think about how this affects the people around you,” he rants, feeling the frustration of years of repressed strain finally demanding release. “There was Hankel, and you actually died, and then there was the anthrax case, and you almost died again, and the train and the compound and I can’t fucking stand it anymore, Spencer! You can’t do this to me anymore, I can’t survive it! I’ve only just gotten you back and you’re already trying to get yourself killed again and _not anymore.”_

The team are silent, stunned.

Reid coughs. His voice squeaks. “Are you breaking up with me?”

 

 

Reid stares at Hotch, noting with concern the flushed colour to his face and the frantic way he’s blinking. If Reid didn’t know better, he’d have suspected the man is drunk. Aureilo sits in his lap and gapes at the man and his dæmon, just as stunned.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, another on his arm. Both belong to different team members. One tightens.

He swallows, chokes out the words even though they feel impossible. To have lived through this hellish day, and then this? It hardly seems fair. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Hotch stops mid-rant and, for a moment, his expression is raw and vulnerable. Reid reels from it. He shakes his head, looks at his shoes, looks up and shakes it again. He looks scared. It’s terrifying to watch. Reid’s blood runs cold.

“No, I… I…” Hotch stammers. Stops. Stares helplessly at them.

“Aaron,” Rossi says, a warning in his tone. Exasperated. Expecting the worst.

“Maybe this isn’t the time,” JJ cuts in at the same time. “You know, we should calm down, think things through.”

“It’s been an emotional day!” Morgan exclaims, Garcia clinging to his arm. “Come on, guys… Hotch, think about this.”

“You are breaking up with me,” Reid breathes, because of _course_ he is. Maybe he’s finally seen what people like William Reid had seen from the beginning, that wrongness about him that makes him impossible to love. His team make furious noises and Hotch chokes out a laugh. He doesn’t answer though. Hal does.

“No, you idiots,” she snaps, stepping forward and glaring at her hopeless human. “He’s asking you to marry him.”

 

 

It’s so quiet he can hear his own blood rushing through his veins, although by the dawning comprehension and glee on Rossi’s face, the quiet isn’t going to last long. So, instead, he steps forward and drops to his knees in front of Reid to bring them both to eye level, laying both his hands over the other man’s and willing him to know that every word he speaks is true.

What good is being a profiler if he can’t see the truth in this?

“I love you,” he says quietly. “I know I always have. There’s something about you that makes it impossible not to love you. Please, give me the chance to show you that, so I don’t ever have to face losing you again without you knowing how important you truly are. I want to spend the rest of my life with you at my side.”

Reid is silent, staring at him still as though struggling to comprehend what he’s saying. Maybe he is. There’s a clatter and the chair shudders as though someone had kicked it, startling him back to life. “Okay,” Spencer says. His mouth twists in thought, as though thinking it through. He smiles suddenly, and it’s like a light switching on. “Oh shit. Okay, yes. Yes!”

“Finally,” Aureilo grumbles, hopping down to nuzzle against Hal’s side as the wolfdog wags her tail with barely restrained glee. “Took you both long enough.”

 

In a few minutes, the rest of the team realize what’s happened and surround them with cheering and hugs and tears. In a few hours, they board the jet to return to their lives, even though those lives are changed forever. In a few days, they tell Jack and he doesn’t really understand, since as far as he’s concerned Spencer’s already a father to him anyway.

Time passes as time does and both realize that their lives were changed forever the day that Jason Gideon shoved a shy, reticent man into Aaron’s life and made it impossible for either to give up on the other.

And even after years, Spencer Reid still manages to surprise him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“You can't untie a boat that was never moored,_
> 
> _nor hear a shadow in its furs,_
> 
> _nor move through thick life without fear.”_
> 
> **Osip Mandelstam, _The Selected Poems_**

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited November, 2017.**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [There's Nothing Wrong With Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362687) by [blythechild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild)




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